


I Can't Get Out Of Love (a love i had a grip on; now it's gripping me)

by doreah



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Cross-Gen, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Sexual Content, multi-gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreah/pseuds/doreah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naomi's home from Goa, falling apart & wasting time away with Effy when she finds herself helplessly entangled in a new web alongside the meddlesome Effy, manipulative Tony & his striking girlfriend, Michelle - but unable to let Emily go. All Gens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the first myth of cygnus

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Can't Get Out Of Love" by Matthew Barber.
> 
> This fic contains a fair share of Greek myths, astronomy, hunting and biblical references, as well as a dabbling of quantum physics. Please excuse any glaring inaccuracies as I am absolutely shit at physics, but I tried to research as much as possible. I think I generally covered the bases necessary if you're not familiar with Greek mythology and such, but I'll gladly clarify anything. I hope the fic in general isn't too redundant, especially in light of my other most recent fic, but I just seem to have an obsession with emotional inner-turmoil and confusion, (especially relating to the hardships of coming-of-age – this is pretty much this genre, as most of my fics tend to be. Not surprising because I believe ultimately that's what Skins itself tells the stories of, or attempts to – or at the very least sets up the potential for a coming-of-age story, perhaps at the end of a generation). Doesn't help that I ship Naomi with so many people. Kinda of presents conflict and creates dissonance naturally. But it really isn't a romantic exploration as much as a journey of Naomi's (and at the heart of it, Michelle's as well). Note: It is post-S5, so Tony has recovered and is back to himself, mostly.
> 
> Mega thanks to Shan, my lovely, wonderful artist who put up with my finickiness and indecision, and gave me some much needed boosts. Also mega thanks to Leanne for the amazing support and allowing me to rant to my heart's content and never coming up short on piling on the encouragement. :)
> 
> Originally posted to LJ (@rabbithearts) and FF.net (@Eskimo Jo) September, 2011. For further reviews, see those accounts.

" _To horse and away; To the heart of the fray! Fling care to the Devil for one merry day!"_  
~ W.H. Ogilvy

* * *

The party is shit.

And not just the normal sort of shit that bad parties tend to be, like with a few too many girls wailing over whatever prick they've been sucking off lately, some idiot smashing a valuable piece of art and someone else chundering all over the floor in the only working bathroom. No. This is on another level. This is the kind of party that makes you question if humanity even has a hope in hell of surviving past Tuesday. This is the sort where you sit in the corner and tick off all the various ways in which you would murder every last person in the place if only you had the materials, means and guts – plus a nice side of psychopathic rage. It's precisely the sort that you loathsomely arrive at against your better judgement, is packed full of people from college that you would have rather never have seen ever again, and during which you have to drink cheap lager from a dirty cup alone whilst watching the love of your life being fondled by a minging, ridiculous blonde ape of a girl. All in the name of "having a good night out."

This is Naomi Campbell's life. It's much the same weekend after weekend. And it had been hers for the better part of 4 months now. It hadn't been part of her brilliant life plan at all but Effy had a notoriously persuasive way of framing invitations that managed to fool her time and time again. After each one of these pathetic, agonising nights she would tell herself not to take Effy's offer the next time. Regardless, when Thursday or Friday night came around, the sneaky girl would create an impressive sounding fantasy that was often too good to refuse and Naomi would consider the fact that, maybe, just maybe, she was right this time and it would be a bloody good night. She couldn't take the chance and give it a miss, only to find out later that actually it had been the party of the year.

However, 19 supposed parties of the year later, Naomi was no closer to having the experience that everyone else around her seemed to be fully immersed in. She had tried the drugs and the drink. Neither seemed to make life all that much better except on occasion. Momentarily perhaps, and only if she got so off her face she woke up sprawled out on the floor of a stranger's kitchen with a horrid kink in her back and a pounding come-down headache, usually with her knickers nowhere to be found. That wasn't really her style however. Not many girls - or boys for that matter - found that sort of trainwreck particularly sexy or appealing, and the one girl specifically that she wanted to win over certainly turned her nose up at such behaviour. So, the drugs were the first thing to go. Effy wasn't easily convinced but learnt her lesson about spiking Naomi's drinks when she was faced with a blubbering, useless twat of a mate who proceeded to pass out smack dab in the middle of the bed Effy had been planning to use to fuck her latest forgetting tool. If there was anything that could get through the Stonem girl, it was an ill, cock-blocking moaner. Further, Naomi had refused to speak to Effy for a good week and a half afterwards.

As the two of them were already in such short supply of friends, it was quite a punishment. The compromise came in the form of Naomi agreeing to come out to parties, and Effy for her part, would refrain from drugging her up against her will. _Fucking friends_. What kind of mate is that anyway? Who do you have to be to think that a compromise like that is actually desirable? Naomi wouldn't really know. With Cook in prison, Freddie dead, JJ at uni someplace, Thommo and Panda fucked off to live the American dream, a decent mate is in a high demand at the moment so she lives with what she can get, and tries to be grateful all the same. Effy just happened to be there when Naomi had felt completely alone after Emily, and she's quite all right when she isn't in the midst of yet another bout of self-destruction. Luckily such episodes were scheduled for mainly Friday and Saturday nights. The rest of the time, the two of them pretended to be normal.

It worked. Most of the time.

Sort of.

The pretending to be fine, that things are normal and that life is just peachy, becomes rather difficult on occasions like this when she is forced to watch Emily grind up against some blonde cow on the other side of the living room. It's fucking bullshit and there's no way anyone in her position could possibly be _fine_ about that. They'd only split 5 months ago, and while that may be an exceptionally long period of time to nurse relationship wounds for an average person, Naomi was not average and her relationship with Emily was nothing short of exceptional. (Exceptionally amazing and exceptionally awful in retrospect.) She doesn't think it's quite fair when Effy gives her that pitying look that says "Oh, just get over it already." Naomi is not going to take advice from a girl who's solution to pure anguish and heartbreak is to dope herself to oblivion and shag everything within a 45 mile radius. Boy, girl, sheep, fencepost. Didn't seem to matter any longer. It's even worse when she visits Effy and her insufferable brother is there, and he simply suggests the exact same thing, just with even harder callousness. He'd even said he'd see to her properly. The suggestion had left Naomi feeling worthless, and mental. Like she was odd for reacting and carrying on as she had done for so long. Sure, maybe it had been a while but regardless her heart was in fucking pieces and no amount of little white pills or painfully average-sized cock would fix that. (Effy's brother could walk around in those stupid boxer-briefs all he wanted, and Naomi would continue to judge.)

Deep down she's certain Effy knows this as well and how, in the long run, her remedy is likely to fail splendidly, assuming it hadn't already. It won't be a blaze of glory. It'll dissolve her, slowly eat away at her existence until there's nothing left but her bones. It's probably why apart from these weekend flights of fancy, she keeps to herself, makes weird fucking collages alone in her bedroom and cries. Yes, Effy Stonem cries. It's rare, but it happens. And Naomi learnt that giving Effy a taste of her own medicine and telling her to get over it already was not an acceptable piece of advice. After doing so, she'd walked in on Effy crying more fitfully and working on a disturbing piece of so-called art that featured photos of Naomi's body dismembered in very odd and gory ways. They'd inadvertently hurt each other quite a lot in these first stages of having a go at a legitimate friendship. It helps now that Effy is taking at least some of her medication and taking time off from her art to see a psychiatrist. And not a fucking whack-job like that Foster bloke. Perhaps most impressively, since returning, her brother has reigned her in considerably better than a professional ever could. Sometimes it's unbearably sweet the way they speak, or like those times she comes round the Stonems and finds Effy asleep with her head in her brother's lap as he silently reads some pretentious novel. He'll just smirk, hold a finger to his lips, maybe run a soft hand through her hair and go back to his book.

Naomi wishes she had an older brother too. All she's got is a dozy mum who thinks chakra stones and organic vegetables are the solution to all of life's many woes. She's well-meaning but ultimately clueless. The blonde isn't clear how locally grown, pesticide-free carrots would really help her out of her current predicament.

Emily is so fucking happy. She's obviously on something illegal and wonderful. Probably ecstasy again. But it doesn't matter because she's smiling and laughing with that wide, bright grin and her brown eyes are huge and shining. Of course, she's focussed on the horsey girl she's with like she can't look away, and that stings further. Naomi wants to just throw things at them both but a stint in women's prison is not on her current to-do list. That would certainly set her plan back a few months. Emily's been looking progressively better and better the longer they've been broken up. It's a sign that she's healing, Naomi reckons. She's jealous that she can't seem to find the same peace. Maybe that's the role of the dumpee. It's harder to reconcile with.

 _Whatever._ Emily still shouldn't flaunt her new-found freedom quite so blatantly. Naomi narrows her eyes one last time at the troll with her paws up Emily's top and wanders over to the sofa, spilling half her drink when some annoying fuck shouting "Buddha Buddha Cheeeeese Buddha!" slams into her while doing what she could only generously refer to as dancing. Luckily, her spilt beer gets all over his ugly t-shirt in some fit of karmic revenge and she shrugs, continuing towards her desired perch. It's currently occupied by a couple of brats –a metalhead twat and some posh kid– sucking each other's faces off on the one end, and some random girl on the other. Naomi plops herself smack in the middle and takes a long gulp of her lager.

"You met Anwar then?" A voice to her right breaks through the cacophony that is considered music at this party.

She turns to face the girl there. "What?" She's somewhat irritated about the need for conversation. She just wants to sit and mope until the time comes to drag Effy home.

"Anwar. The bloke that you spilt your drink on," the girl explains.

"He's a tit," Naomi states plainly. "Don't care what his name is." She feels a right to be so surly. Glancing up in Emily's direction, she glimpses just the flash of her ex-girlfriend tongue-wrestling while swaying to the irritating, teeth-grating wobble of commercialised dubstep. Yeah, it's a fucking horrible party and she shouldn't have to play nice just to appease some girl.

The other girl shrugs. "He's my mate."

Naomi sighs. "You've got shit choice in friends then." Maybe if she's just slightly more of a ridiculous cunt, the girl will move away and allow her to sulk in peace. Naomi chooses to ignore the fact that her own friends are in prison or have a tendency to slip her drugs and drag her to places she doesn't want to go, time after time.

"Yeah, probably. Goes nicely with shit taste in boyfriends."

 _Great._ Another one of these girls. Naomi does not want to talk about how stupid boys are and "Why don't they love me?" and all that rubbish that drunk girls prattle on about on a regular basis, usually ending in a flood of hysterical tears until they puke from the sheer exertion. She chooses not to engage, not to push the subject to avoid exactly that situation. She's got new trainers on and doesn't want them spoiled by vomit. She chooses instead to shrug, give a non-committal grunt and put her cup back to her mouth, knocking back the remaining bit of lager. Her eyes stay focused on the crowd of people milling about the room, searching for her redhead. Yes. _Her_ redhead.

The sofa cushions shift slightly as the stranger rises from her seat. She stands directly in front of Naomi until the blonde glances up, half in annoyance, half in curiousity. She's struck suddenly by green eyes peering down at her intensely. They're complimented by a very pretty face framed by loose brown curls. She doesn't dare look any further down because the temptation to like what she sees is already a tad too strong.

"I'm off to grab a drink," she says reaching her hand out for Naomi's cup. "Want me to get you one as well?"

The blonde squints for a moment. This is odd. Girls like this aren't usually nice to her, and furthermore she hadn't expected to make any friends at this party but now it seems like that is a very likely possibility. "Sure." She hands over her plastic cup carefully, making sure not to let their fingers touch.

"Brill," the brunette smiles and twists around in the direction of the kitchen. Her face seems relieved before she leaves.

Naomi watches, finally feeling free enough to chance a look at the rest of her. Dangerously fit, indeed. Not that it fucking matters, cos her heart is owed to another. Still...

The girl bumps into Anwar the Tit and he immediately loops an arm over her shoulders, involving her in what looks like a serious conversation. There's another boy with him, shorter and geeky with an ugly, worn beanie on his head. He's saying something as well. They all look unhappy; a sharp change from Anwar's disposition a few minutes prior. The short boy is insisting something and her new friend shakes her head emphatically, looking quite flustered and pushes away from them both, moving towards the kitchen a brisk pace. She pushes another random person out of her way in the process. Naomi visually follows her retreating form until a certain other girl comes into focus nearby. Emily's standing alone against the wall, bottle of water in hand.

It's kind of eerie, magical almost, how two people's gazes can meet even in such chaos, across such distance. It's almost like old times and Naomi's heart beats more rapidly in her chest. She can see the deep intake of breath in her ex-girlfriend. Emily's not completely happy. That's clear enough. She puts on a good show, of course. Years of lessons from her sister no doubt contributed to her skill. But Naomi knows Emily; she knows that underneath her new persona something's still tugging at her. Pulling them both. The moment ends abruptly as Emily breaks eye contact first. She looks away. Naomi follows and realises that the blonde tart is in that direction. She squeezes her own eyes closed, willing the image to dissipate.

Someone clears their throat nearby and her eyes fly open. A beer can is dangling in front of her face. She takes it hesitantly, forcing a tight smile. "Cheers," she mutters as the girl sits down beside her again.

"There were 4 types of manky beer. I chose the least repulsive for you," she states. "Figured, let the boys have the others. They've no taste anyway."

And just like that, it's back to how boys are complete wankers. It is not her desired topic of conversation. In fact, she has no desired topic so she gulps down an impressive helping of her drink, still staring out at the partygoers stumbling over each other. She can't make out Emily amongst them any longer and she strains to see around some of the idiots blocking her view. It's futile. A waste of energy.

"Hey." The voice is softer now and more imploring. Not so charming and upbeat. Not so false. Naomi can't help but turn towards her. "You all right?"

It's very bizarre to hear that question. It's almost like the brunette is speaking in a foreign language. She could be speaking in bloody Swahili for the amount of sense it makes. Naomi hasn't heard those words uttered to her (at least with any actual concern) in months it feels like. Effy never bothered –mostly because Effy didn't ask, she told. And her mum never seemed to actually understand. So now she's momentarily taken aback with the fact that there is sincere curiosity in the tone. Her eyes lock of their own accord and suddenly she's feeling very much like a deer in headlights. However, the oncoming car is weirdly soothing. She can't really explain the feeling, so she does her signature shrug of indifference, sipping her drink again. Her company does the same before sighing.

"It's kind of a shit party, yeah?" she asks, changing the subject. When Naomi glances over, the girl is staring off towards a darkened corner where a couple is having an intimate-looking conversation.

"Yeah," she agrees.

There's a sigh. "That's my boyfriend," she says, pointing in the direction of the other couple. He peers around at the same moment and sees her pointing in his direction. With a cocksure smirk, a wink and a wave to the girl beside her, he turns around again, refocussed on the other girl who is apparently not his actual girlfriend.

"You're seeing Tony Stonem?" Naomi is aghast at the idea. What little she knows about him is enough cause to be scandalized by the notion. She decides not to mention to his girlfriend how Tony had offered, not once but multiple times, to sort her out. She can kind of see now why this girl is so distraught about the male species. Who wouldn't be if they were dating that tosser?

The brunette chuckles derisively. "Of course you know who Tony is. Who doesn't?" She shakes her head in sad sort of disbelief before necking a large helping of what smells like almost pure vodka.

"I haven't-," Naomi starts but is cut off.

"I know. I've become quite good at picking out which girls he's shagged behind my back."

Naomi grimaces. "Or in front of you." It slips out more condescendingly that she had intended and she winces again. _Shit._ The girl beside her stiffens and let's out a controlled huff of irritation. She takes a sip of her drink again before turning more fully to Naomi.

"I'm Michelle," she states, offering her hand as if blocking out the entire last few minutes. It happened but it never happened, or whatever it was that Effy used to recite. A smile pulls at the other girl's lips and it's quite possibly genuine so the blonde accepts the offered hand, feeling like she's suddenly ended up at the most fucked up job interview ever.

"Naomi."

After a slightly lengthy and almost awkward pause, Michelle speaks. "So how do you know Tony Stonem, Naomi?"

"He's my best mate's brother."

Michelle snorts. "You're Effy's friend? Good luck." She doesn't catch Naomi glowering at her briefly. The younger girl doesn't want to talk about Effy and certainly doesn't want to bring on a row defending her only friend to Tony's dozy girlfriend. Biting her tongue, she drains her remaining drink. Her head is feeling woozy, a bit soft.

"How do you know Tony then?" she volleys back. They're good at this kind of conversation: bouncing back and forth past topics they'd both rather avoid, switching focus constantly. Never lingering on the shitty parts.

Michelle squints before bowing her head to stare at the carpet under their feet as if it holds some important secret. She clears her throat daintily before sipping again. "We met in Year 8. Through a friend." She glances up towards that geek in the beanie hat with Anwar. "Then you know how it goes in school. Year 10 we got together. And then after college we went to different universities. Came back here not long ago and, like, are giving it a go for the 10th time around."

Naomi stares off into the corner that hides Tony and whatever girl he's chatting up. "Seriously?" Naomi can't understand how the fuck miserably watching him trying to pull some slag is considered "giving it a go". It's completely the opposite of what she would consider that to mean. Michelle must be a bit thick. Like actually have something wrong in her head. Then again, mental dysfunction seems like it's kind of a prerequisite for dating a Stonem, she supposes, and even more so for this predicament.

Sounding fatigued, Michelle lets out a long sigh. "Yes. He's just... being Tony. He's playing games." She glimpses her boyfriend across the room but turns away quickly. "He's not serious."

Naomi arches an eyebrow as she watches him kiss along the other girl's neck. _Yeah fucking right he's not serious_. This is well fucked up and Naomi wonders if maybe she would have preferred a drunk bird getting ill on her new trainers. It's possible. Looking over to Michelle, Naomi's still a little disbelieving. "You just let that happen? Why don't you do something?"

The brunette shakes her head before tipping her cup back and swallowing the rest of her vodka with impressive ease. She tosses the cup aside. "It's complicated, okay?"

"There's complicated and then there's just proper spackered," she mumbles, only half-hoping the other girl will hear.

Apparently she hears it loud and clear as she releases a very disgruntled groan. "Nevermind. I thought you'd understand."

"I don't even know you," Naomi blurts out defensively. How the hell would she get that impression? "What made you think I'd understand?" Because she's friends with Effy? That barely makes sense even on its own. She's not exactly a Stonem family expert, and considering Michelle and Tony had been together for quite a while and she has heard nothing about his having a girlfriend only shows how little she knows about Tony. She's Effy's mate, not Effy's brother's mate.

Michelle's brows wrinkle in something resembling pain. Closing her eyes, she takes a long breath. Eventually she focuses on Naomi, squarely and intensely again. "You look as miserable as I feel."

 _Ah._ Heart-to-hearts with strangers. Not Naomi Campbell's speciality, to be fair. She squirms with discomfort. "I'm not-."

"Oh, come off it," Michelle cuts in. "Who is it? Is he here? Must be." She pauses, staring around at all the people in the room as if she's excited about a new mystery, a new romantic drama to immerse herself in. Offhandedly she adds, "I'm not soft in the head, you know."

Emily isn't anywhere to be seen at the moment as Naomi glances surreptitiously around, not wanting to linger lest Michelle pick up on where she's looking and come to the wrong conclusion. "It doesn't matter." The words are barely pass her lips before she sucks in a sharp breath as she spots Emily and the minging cow full-on snogging and groping by the stereo system. Her gaze freezes, locked on the display. She's vaguely aware of Michelle shifting about, trying to follow her line of sight. Naomi knows she should look away or else risk giving herself away, but the scene is too horrific in all honesty. It's like her nightmares in fullview, projected for everyone else to gawk at. Yet no one knows the evil nature of them, and thus no one tries to stop them from happening.

Michelle sighs beside her, whispering an understanding, "Oh."

They say nothing for what feels like ages. Naomi can't be certain what Michelle is looking at because it's not exactly the most important thing at the moment. Oh, and there it is: Emily's hand moving, dipping under the waistband of the bitch's jeans. _As fucking if_. She feels eyes boring into her suddenly. And almost as suddenly, there's a commotion and Anwar the alleged Magnificent lurches sideways into the couple, knocking them both off-balance and completely ruining their disgusting moment. _Good_. At least he was good for something. Emily takes the opportunity to look around, not likely for anything particular but she finds it anyway.

Her eyes widen slightly when she sees Naomi staring hard at her. She doesn't smirk as Naomi had been accustomed to in recent weeks. She looks almost apologetic, as if she actually is regretting her actions just a little bit. There's something glistening in her eyes that seems sad and weak. Naomi's hoping that's reality and not just her drunken mind playing tricks on her.

Whatever is happening is interrupted by Michelle snatching Naomi's hand, pulling her up from the sofa abruptly. "Let's go get another drink, yeah?" She yanks on Naomi's arm, dragging her through the crowd and towards the kitchen. Past Emily, past Tony.

A small, boisterous crowd of college rugby lads is gathered around the table where there seems to be an assorted collection of unclaimed liquor bottles. Michelle reaches over and snatches an almost half-empty bottle of Bacardi, ignoring the one bloke objecting to her choice, instead bending over to flash his mate a view right down her top and complaints are silenced. Looking down, Naomi realises that her hand is still cradled tightly in Michelle's. It's warm, tight. Confident perhaps. If holding someone's hand could have that quality.

"Come on," she says earnestly, pulling again on Naomi as the blonde reaches for a small bottle of Coke. It's much like she'd seen Emily be dragged about by Katie from time to time. The similarity is slightly appalling.

Tony's still in the corner with the slag and he watches carefully as they breeze by him, back into the sparse crowd dancing near the stereo. Michelle takes a long swig straight from the bottle and Naomi offers up the Coke to chase it which she accepts graciously before passing the rum to Naomi. She's not as keen on chugging straight liquor but it has to burn less than seeing Emily out of the corner of her eye getting felt up by that blonde cow. A wince crawls over her lips as she swallows, gesturing wildly at Michelle for the soft drink. As the liquor swirls down towards her stomach, she relaxes slightly, watching Michelle drink again. This girl is a fish. Anwar's back beside them, grabbing at Michelle and begging like a child for the alcohol. She plays a friendly game of keep-away for a few seconds, giggling before handing it to him. With good etiquette, after his helping, he passes it over to Naomi. In a matter of minutes after exchanging large swigs of drink, the bottle is empty.

It's going to be a fucking messy night.

 

 

Lethal Bizzle is blasting through the speakers as Naomi stumbles sloppily against Michelle and Sid, laughing. It's quite an odd feeling, this idea of having actual fun at a house party. She'd lost track of Emily's whereabouts about half an hour ago, she reckons. Who knows what time is anymore. Bass is pouring from the sound system, vibrating the floor at a wonderful frequency. The beats begin pulsating against her body.

_Wait._

No. That's Michelle.

This random girl she's only met tonight is up and grinding on her like she thinks she's at a club. The funny thing about alcohol is its lovely way of making normal reasoning ability severely impaired and, truth is, Naomi has had a lot of liquor tonight. Michelle presses back, her nicely firm ass gyrating to the music against Naomi's crotch as her hands snake back and down Naomi's thighs, grasping at denim. And even though she's never been big on dancing, Naomi can't help it. Not at this moment. She also can't resist sliding her own hands over a sparsely clad waist and down to pull on Michelle's hips, pulling her intensely closer. The brunette's head falls back on Naomi's shoulder and, yes, this is far worse than any temptation even Jesus himself faced.

Mostly cos for one thing, Jesus wasn't drunk as far as Naomi remembers from that time her mother had gone on an 'all religions of of the world' kick and told Bible fairy-stories for a week straight. Also, Jesus wasn't a lesbian with an incredibly fit girl all up on his tits. She reckons even the Lord himself would think twice about the Devil's offer had he been in her shoes.

This whole ordeal may just send her to Hell, so it's an excellent thing that Naomi isn't religious then.

Her lips touch tentatively against hot skin over Michelle's pulse. This is probably bad form and she's about to get a Stonem fist in the face at any moment. Or, as it happens, Michelle pulls away. Naomi's cheeks flush hot and she freezes. _Shit._ It's been so long since she'd even been with anyone –let alone Emily- that maybe the rules have changed. Or perhaps Michelle is just fucking straight. _Obviously she is, Naomi, you daft twat_. She berates herself for getting mixed up in this bloody mess in the first place and is about to dash from the dancefloor, tail between her legs, when Michelle faces her, flinging her arms around the blonde's neck. Naomi's breath catches in her throat. The older girl is practically throwing herself at her, and Naomi is completely baffled about how to respond, what would be considered crossing the line. Does a line even exist anymore? Thinking becomes a much harder task as she feels an incredibly warm body pressed right up against her.

"Where's your girl?" she whispers in Naomi's ear and a shudder passes straight down her spine at the thought. She looks around quickly, trying to spot Emily. She fails and shrugs. It's at that moment she catches Michelle glancing at Tony who's moved out of the shadows, but still with the slag of his. He's eyeing the two of them with something mixed between arousal and disbelief. It makes Naomi slightly ill and she attempts to put some space between her and Michelle, bumping into a grinning Sid in the process.

"What's the problem then?" the girl asks again suggestively, pulling Naomi back. Her lips are mere inches away. _Fuck_. It's Michelle that closes the distance with little to no hesitation. Her arms tighten around Naomi's neck. _It's just the drink,_ Naomi reminds herself when she feels like the music is actually covering her body, rippling pleasure through it at regular intervals. She groans quietly as a tongue pushes against her mouth.

She is snogging a girl. A girl who is not Emily. At a party that Emily is also at, somewhere. This is most likely going to end horribly but the second wonderful thing about alcohol is that very few things seem undesirable. In fact, most everything seems like a good idea in the spur of the moment, including but not limited to a stranger's tongue down her throat as her hands slide up bare thighs, inadvertently pushing underneath a skirt. Naomi is so fucking turned on at the moment, she can barely function beyond the very basic primal instincts. Her peripheral vision doesn't exist. Her hands are beasts of their own mind, and her mind itself has taken a direct flight into fantasy.

This is likely the real sort of dirty dancing that parents and schoolteachers despise. None of that camp 80s rubbish. She's got a hot girl's thigh grinding against her clit and she can barely breathe. Michelle breaks the kiss to pull in a breath. Naomi's legitimately surprised at how hard the other girl is breathing. She shifts, changing the angle of her own leg, expertly, and waits for the gasp. It comes sharply in her ear, punctuated with a tiny moan.

 _Oh, Jesus fuck, this is not good. Not good at all._ This is why they had brought in the temperance movement, she reckons. It must have been. So wankered neglected, lonely sorts didn't start dry humping like feral animals on a dancefloor at a shitty teenage house party. Nullifying the source of social ills and all that. Too bad it feels so fucking good or Naomi may have been tempted to stop.

It's only after Naomi's been feverishly leaving her mark on the other girl's neck does she feel large hands pushing against her shoulder. There's a moment of readjustment to reality as she comes to, blearily focusing on the tall boy standing far too close for comfort. His blue eyes pierce her in all the wrong places and for once, she's actually intimated by Tony Stonem. He says nothing but Naomi's hands fall away from Michelle's body like lightning. It's somewhat comforting that her partner in crime appears equally as dazed by the interruption... except there's a very slight smirk on her face when Michelle realises who it is that has interrupted them. The song shifts to something far more wobbly again and it breaks the spell for good.

Naomi suddenly feels ill, the sick rising to the back of her throat. This is just not on. She'd just been effectively used as bait in Michelle and Tony's fucked up relationship. It's probably a good thing that she's a little numbed from the rum. She pushes away from the older girl who barely gives her a second glance, choosing to focus on Tony, a glint of challenge in her eyes. She shoves Anwar aside as she squeezes away from all the dancing. Her gaze darts around and her heart plummets. Emily's standing there, pained brown eyes locked on her. She'd seen it all.

"Ems," Naomi calls out, her voice cracking but to no avail. The redhead, cringes and rushes away, back through a crowd of girls and out of sight.

The blonde rubs a hand over her face, trying to orient herself in the house. The front door catches her eye and she stumbles over to it, stepping out into the garden, the cool night air feeling like heaven against her burning skin. She staggers out of the doorway. Effy's standing alone the shadows, lazily pulling on a cigarette and cocks a smile at Naomi when she takes in her friend's state.

"Smoke?" she asks, already tapping one out of the packaging. Naomi groans and takes it from her, lighting it with incredibly shaky hands. The moment the smoke is drawn into her lungs, the blonde feels a little better. Effy doesn't have to say a word. She's probably sussed it all out anyway. Naomi leans against the wall, feeling her nerves and sickness start to disappear in the absence of Emily, Michelle and that whole rat's nest of fuckery. They stand in silence, wisps of cigarette smoke swirling around them in the calm air. Thudding bass from indoors is like a fading war drum now. Nothing to be scared of anymore.

Looking up at the sky, Naomi picks out the Plough, following it to the North Star, a trick she'd picked up from her father long ago on a caravanning holiday to Wales. She retains very little of use from him, except his love of stars. She's never been one of those children preoccupied with outer space or aliens or any of that comic book bollocks, but constellations appealed to her. They were constant. If it was a clear night, she could just look up and recognise familiar faces, recall Greek myths. Most people felt small and lonely in comparison to the vastness of space and the uniqueness of Earth. She feels less lonely. There were stars up there, just sitting alone as well, like her, minding their own business. Completely indifferent to her existence or petty problems. Billions of miles from each other, but from far away they make stories and pictures. They carry memories on waves of light.

Taking another drags she squints, surprised how her drunken double-vision isn't interfering too harshly with her contemplation of Cygnus.

She takes a long breath, staring upwards. "Once, there were two friends who flew too close to the Sun and crashed to Earth. One died, and the other, Cygnus, begged Zeus for help to help him dive for his friend's body that was at the bottom of a river," Naomi recites, almost to nobody in particular. Effy raises an eyebrow at the tale coming from her intoxicated friend's mouth. "He was proper torn up about it all, like wailing and crying on the riverbank. Zeus offered Cygnus the option to change into a swan and retrieve his best mate's body but only if he remained a swan afterwards and gave up his immortality, living only as briefly as a swan. Cygnus agreed without hesitation. And Zeus, he was so bloody impressed with Cygnus' unselfishness that he placed a swan in the sky in in honour of him." Naomi sighs and takes a drag of her cigarette again, gazing up. Her brunette friend says nothing for a long while.

"Fancy story, Naomi," she finally muses aloud.

Naomi peers over, and chuckles at Effy's expression. "You're not the only one who likes a myth here and there, Eff." She quirks a smile at her friend.

Effy shakes her head and smiles. "Something to do with Emily again?"

Naomi stares at the ash burning on the end of her fag. For once, it really wasn't. "No, the stars just caught my eye is all." She laughs again at the fact she'd just rambled Greek mythology in a drunken state in a stranger's front garden. "Ready to go?" she asks Effy quickly. Scrunching her nose up, Effy waves her half-finished cigarette at Naomi. Okay, she knows that language. It means, 'in a bit'.

The music becomes louder suddenly and both girls look over to see the front door open fully and another brunette slip outside. The music fades as quick as it began as the door clicks shut. However, Naomi feels the familiar sick rising up. So much for a good end to the night after the previous disaster. Michelle hesitates briefly before moving towards them both. Effy looks almost amused at the situation, her gaze jumping back and forth between Naomi and Michelle. The older girl steps close to Effy.

She avoids eye contact with Naomi. "Mind if I bum one?" she asks, her voice wavering a little.

"Thought you quit," Effy deadpans.

"Christ, can I just have one, please?"

Naomi watches as Effy pulls a fag out for her brother's girlfriend and hands it to her, a wide smirk on her face. Michelle takes a deep first drag before exhaling slowly to the side. Only then does she chance a look at the blonde. "Sorry about earlier," she says with an air of sincere apology. "I didn't..."

"It's fine," Naomi snaps. It comes out much harder than she intended so she attempts to amend it. "Don't worry about it. Just got carried away is all." Her feeble excuses seem weak even to her own ears. No doubt Effy is thinking the same.

Michelle shifts her weight, touching her hair briefly. "So, Tony and I are back on. Properly," she states. She sounds as if she's perfectly aware that neither of the younger girls care. Effy snorts and tosses her cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the toe of her boot. Michelle straightens her spine a little more. "We are." Her voice is adamant, like she's trying to convince Tony's sister, as well as herself. Her mouth sets into a hard line at Effy's disbelief and she rolls her eyes at the younger girl, turning to Naomi instead. "I'd like us to be friends."

Naomi tilts her head to the side, recognising the unfortunate feeling of alcohol-induced vertigo. She dare not move it further now. She may actually tumble over. That would be classy. Regardless of the state of her liquefying brain, Naomi's not certain she wants anymore friends. She's got Effy. That's enough headache. Especially not friends that use her for sex games to make their boyfriends jealous. Not really a sign of a great mate, in her opinion. But apart from that, she rather enjoyed the older girl's company. Michelle raises her eyebrows, awaiting a response. She actually looks quite genuine. Naomi balances the last of her cigarette between her lips as she reaches into her pocket for her mobile, handing it to Michelle. "Go for it," she sighs and watches the brunette's fingers work quickly to put in her number then ring her own phone.

Of course, an obnoxious Peaches ringtone breaks through the peaceful silence in the neighbourhood. Michelle quickly silences it and quirks a partly shy smile in the girls' direction. Both Naomi and Effy stare back impassively. Naomi's expression shifts however when she notices the very definite mark of her mouth's handiwork on Michelle's neck. There's a flush of an ugly, tangled sort of feeling; something between embarrassment, arousal and resentment. It boils slowly in Naomi's chest as she stares fixedly at the lovebite. Eventually the older brunette notices, her hand self-consciously touching it and then turning to the side, effectively hiding the red bruise from Naomi's nosey view. Effy's eyes are darting back and forth during the silent exchange and Naomi's unsure if her friend had been in the house at the time, but she seems to have pieced it all together regardless.

Thankfully she doesn't have a chance to make any snide comments before the front door swings open again and a redhead stumbles out onto the walk, followed by the blonde rah from earlier. It's a terrible reunion and Naomi feels the pace of her heart quicken immediately. This isn't how she wanted to talk to Emily, not with fucking Michelle and Effy and that blonde cunt as their audience. She opens her mouth and moves towards Emily by a step but the strange girl's voice breaks the awkward, heavy silence.

"How totally, um, safe to see you, Michelle. Thought you went away, yah?"

Naomi shirks back against the wall, completely lost as to the situation that is occurring. Michelle knows Emily's date? How does everyone know everyone else in this fucking town? At least Emily looks just as taken aback at the revelation. For a moment, Naomi is distracted by the fact that Emily of all people would find this person to be attractive. Looks-wise she's not terrible, but her personality? She seems horrid. Simply must be great in the sack. Then again, Emily never really had good taste in girlfriends, present company admittedly included.

"What are you even doing here, Abi?" There's a sigh. Michelle just sounds tired and dismissive. "You're not even..." Her sentence trails away as she gestures at Emily.

Abigail perks up, a horribly fake smile spreading over her face. "You're not the only one that can have fun. Get Tony's notice, yah? Boy, Michelle, you've really missed a lot in the last year." She gives the brunette a placating smile. "You really shouldn't have bothered. I mean, like, you're not even popular here anymore." Every word that comes out of this girl's mouth sounds so fake and patronizing, like some sort of posh psychiatrist. But Abi's background and inflection aren't really Naomi's main point of focus. Instead, she sees Emily's face go from uncomfortable to irritated, offended possibly at Abi's insinuation. Playing gay for Tony's attention seems to be a disgusting trend for these girls. What the bloody hell was so great about him anyway? And why the fuck did they all think being lesbians for a night would be the great solution to their problem of his wandering eye? Emily huffs and shakes her head disdainfully, strutting away.

Abi starts after her. "Aw, Emsy-poo, I didn't mean it like that, you know right?"

Naomi smirks as Emily's stride never falters. They're done. One less obstacle to winning her back.

 _Good._ She supposes she should thank Michelle for that. The brunette groans and pulls on her fag. "Bitch," she hisses as Abigail's pleading voice fades away. She glares at Effy. "Thanks for your help, by the way," she says with a glower.

Effy shrugs. "I care why?"

"It's your brother she's trying to manipulate."

Again, another shrug, this one even less noticeable than the last. "Same as you are, you mean?" Michelle's eyes narrow but she can't argue with the assertion. "Tony's clever." Effy says the statement with an air of finality. The discussion is over. And it's the truth anyway. Tony hardly needs anyone looking after him any longer. If anything, the girls in his life need more saving from him. Whatever. It is all too complicated and irrelevant to the plans Naomi is intent on making.

_1\. Ring Emily. 2. Make things right._

_Maybe not when so drunk. Yes._

_No. Best right now. Sooner the better._

_Yes, but after chips._

Naomi picks herself off the wall and wobbles into the garden. _Ring Emily. Go see Emily_. _Must do right now. Chips first._ If she could get her legs to work properly it would be a start. Glancing behind her, she waits for Effy to join her and they leave the party together and Michelle's left to fend for herself. Naomi doesn't feel guilty about that. She's more concerned about the chip shop around the corner still being open.

.

They make it to the house just before Naomi drops her half-eaten packet of greasy chips to the pavement and feels the wave of nausea pass from her toes right to her tongue. With a bin beside her, she spends the night retching and sleeping fitfully in Effy's bed instead.


	2. canis major, canis minor

Sunshine is truly a horrible thing, Naomi muses half-consciously as streams of light slice across Effy's bedroom. It's hot and it's bright and all she wants is to burrow into nothingness and never emerge into real life again. The idea of course is ridiculous, though not entirely undesirable. She could roll over, away from the glare, except that would involve an unholy amount of effort which she's not certain she actually possesses at the moment. There's a whiff of alcohol drooping lazily over her senses and short of opening her eyes she has no way of determining if Effy is drinking it as she suspects. _Hair of the dog_ seemed to by her friend's constant motto these days, as if chronic alcoholism and liver disease is indeed a perfectly legitimate method to live life to its fullest. Eventually, and mustering all the courage she can, she squints towards the other side of the bed, noticing with some surprise that there isn't a stick-insect-like brunette sipping liquor beside her. It makes a pleasant sort of change that is quickly nullified however by the aroma of vodka still wafting around. Repressing the urge to be ill, she turns over slowly and excruciatingly carefully, away from the sunlight.

She catches herself dozing off numerous times before finally fully awakening with slightly more gusto than previous, but nowhere near the amount she needs to actually be a functional member of society. Thumps and voices filter in from outside the bedroom and she groans out loud at the possibility of more than just Effy being present in the household. Suddenly the bedroom door swings open with a bang and there's a curse from the otherside belonging to a voice that is vaguely familiar yet still unnameable.

Her eyes widen slightly as another brunette peeks into the room and Naomi's not sure if the sick in her throat is from the hangover or the blurry memories of last night that have suddenly been reawoken. Michelle crosses the room towards her with a quiet "Hey" and a glass of water in her hand. She places it carefully on the nightstand and glances down at the bin of barely-digested chips and rum. Her eyebrow quirks and Naomi's insanely jealous of this girl who could both drink her under the table and be seemingly peachy the next morning, with no evidence that they had actually been on a rather large binge the night before.

Without asking, Michelle gently sits on the edge of the bed, slightly too close for Naomi's comfort. Had it been Effy, her feelings would have been different but no doubt at this moment she reckons she looks something between a mangled clown and a lump of shit. Worse though, she feels like she's been spat out the wrong end of a meat-grinder. On a ship. During a storm at sea. It all makes for an incredibly less than desirable situation for early morning polite conversation. Michelle of course looks no worse for wear, only slightly tired and a little less make-up.

She quickly rips open a packet, reaches over and drops an Alka-Seltzer into the glass. "Tony suggested I come up and give you that. Figured you were pretty poorly this morning."

Settling for a squint rather than a full-on glare due to the sheer effort required, Naomi groans quietly. "I'm fine." _Please go away._

Unfortunately, unlike the Stonems, Michelle doesn't appear to be a mind-reader, and as such is completely oblivious to Naomi's silent objections to her presence. She just smiles almost shyly. "Figured it was my fault you're in this state," she says softly and wriggles around her pocket, pulling out a small bottle of prescription tablets. "So, here is my peace offering." Holding out some light blue pills, she gestures for Naomi to take them. "They're my mum's. Work wonders on hangovers as you can clearly see," she laughs gently. "But keep it quiet. I don't have enough to go around."

Naomi takes two tablets hesitantly, eyeing Michelle suspiciously and swallows. Girls like her are not supposed to be this nice. Girls are catty and judgemental and vapid and unhelpful, and girls like Michelle are supposed to be all of these things to a much higher degree. Like Katie. Predator and prey. The only explanation is that she is feeling incredibly guilty about something, and likely something more than just getting Naomi to the point of moderate alcohol poisoning.

"Cheers." It's all the blonde can mumble under the circumstances.

"I meant what I said last night. I'd really like us to be friends." The words seem to spin over Naomi's head, confusing her and bringing about a strange sort of wonder. Naomi falls back on her usual justification for her skepticism: her kind and Michelle's kind are not natural allies. They reside in different niches, different classes and different ranks in the completely imaginary yet highly influential social structure of young people in Bristol. And worse still, she can't figure out what the ulterior motive actually is for this bridging of types. That Abigail horsefucker bitch may have been onto something in that Michelle's back from uni, lonely and looking to regain her status. Could be. Whatever the reason, it's far too much work to try to evaluate it in her hungover state. She'll save that for later when she's sulking about in her room alone and bored.

She opts for a standard, "Yeah." in response which prompts a smile from the brunette.

"Nice. See you later then, Naomi," she grins and squeezes the blonde's free hand. The gesture provokes sparks to shoot down her arm and Naomi blames it on the sickness that has already subsided. Standing up, Michelle exits the room without further comment, leaving Naomi to nurse her hangover in peace.

.

* * *

It's barely a half hour later when the door creaks open again and a much more familiar face peers in, assessing the situation quickly. The front door had slammed a few minutes earlier and presumably both Tony and Michelle have left. In her visitor's hands is quite a large book.

Effy sits down softly beside Naomi. She sighs, reaches over and places a heavy book on Naomi's lap. Grimacing at the idea of reading anything with her head as sore as it is and her mind as tangled, the blonde groans. It's some massive text about Greek myths. "What is this, Eff?" She attempts not to sound as irritated as she feels but comes up short.

"A book."

 _Fucking Effy._ If she had the willpower and strength, she'd take said book and smack her friend over the head with it right now. But the mere idea of that much movement causes her stomach to clench and she swallows hard instead. Huffing out an exasperated breath, she settles for a minute yet disdainful headshake.

Effy opens the book on Naomi's lap, flipping through the pages until she comes across a picture of a swan and eagle. "There's another version of that story you were going on about last night," Effy says softly, as if telling a secret.

Naomi squints, blearily recalling something about drunkenly staring at the stars. Oh, yes, Cygnus. She stares down at the illustration, three beautiful birds in flight.

"In order to avoid Zeus," Effy begins, "Nemesis, the goddess of retribution, jealousy and punisher of hubris, turned herself into a wild goose. Upon figuring this out, Zeus –who had become inexplicably taken with Nemesis' outstanding beauty– changed himself into a swan and the goddess Aphrodite, of love, beauty and sexuality, transformed into a ferocious eagle. Aphrodite then chased the wild goose Nemesis into Zeus' lap, where they mated and Nemesis bore two eggs. As a timeless testament of his success, Zeus placed the swan in the night sky."

She snaps the book closed quickly causing Naomi to jump and wince at the sound. "You know what a nemesis is, right?"

It is far too early in the day to have a lesson on mythology and vocabulary. Naomi does know, sort of, but her mind is still foggy from the drink and exhaustion. She just wants to crawl back under the blankets and sleep away the nasty feeling in her body. Effy is staring intently at her, awaiting a substantial answer. "Yes," she growls and throws the duvet off. She's going home if Effy won't leave her alone.

Sensing the impending departure, Effy continues. "It's not always bad."

Turning to look over her shoulder, Naomi casts a dark glare in Effy's direction and is only further aggravated by two blue eyes mischievously twinkling back at her. _Who gives a flying shit about the meaning of nemesis anyway? Too fucking early._ She merely groans and pulls herself slowly off the insanely comfortable mattress, swaying on her feet for a moment as her head stops spinning. A shaking hand clenches at her forehead, willing those tablets of Michelle's to start full-on working already. "I'm leaving, Eff." She takes a few steps towards the door. "Have fun with your dictionary," she mumbles and stares back at her best mate.

Effy's just smirking, entirely too amused at the situation as bloody always, as she adds, "It means inescapable."

.

* * *

.

.

" _We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."_

– Anais Nin

.

* * *

.

It starts innocently. Well, it starts as innocently as anything that involves dry-humping, French kissing and excessive liquor consumption can possibly begin. The first time, it's a mere half hour borne of a chance meeting at the top of Park St. Awkward greetings give way to a tentative chat while they meander down to the College Green. Parting ways, Michelle leaves Naomi with nothing more than a smile. The second time, it's less reliant on random chaos theory and Naomi doesn't make up excuses when Michelle rings and further doesn't attempt to back out of a coffee date down by the floating harbour. 'Date' is a generous word of course; in reality it's just two friends sharing some caffeine-laced drinks and making aimless discussion. It lasts only a bit over an hour but as Naomi attempts to scurry away, Michelle catches her in what turns out to be a rather half-arsed and strikingly brief embrace.

The increments in-between meetings become fewer and the chats themselves much longer. Goodbyes take more time. Naomi hugs back with a kind of familiarity eventually. She's the one that lingers a little longer on Friday afternoon.

Of course, by the next Saturday Naomi finds herself dragged along to a party at Roundview halls. An impressive number of sixths are crammed into two adjacent rooms, with lager and spirits soaking carpets and bedsheets as the party rages on without reserve. She doesn't ask how this is allowed to happen in halls. She doesn't much care. The party itself is a definite decrease in drama from a fortnight ago's shenanigans yet she still manages to lose track of Effy somewhere in the space of 200 metres. It's like partying with a ghost.

There are just too many _kids_. Slipping away, she finds her mate in the loo, pulling on a spliff and they lock themselves in a cubicle to finish it as some loud-mouth Belgian exchange student is sick in the stall next door, wailing in French between heaves. Effy thinks the scene is equally as ridiculous and immature as Naomi does. They decide to head down to Warehouse out of sheer desperation but not before coming face to face with a newly arrived Tony and Michelle. This time Michelle doesn't hug Naomi in greeting as her hand is securely clasping Effy's brother's. A smile and a few words is all they manage to exchange before Tony interrupts with a very dismissive tone.

"Christ, I feel like a paedophile here." Just then, a blonde and quite attractive Scottish girl with the lowest cut top known to man falls into him, giggling and splashing her drink over his striped polo shirt as she attempts to right herself. Without even an apology she flits off to prop herself up against a lanky ginger boy who is obviously munted beyond all belief as a boyish-looking girl grins at the scene. Effy sneers and shakes her head. They're too old for this.

The Warehouse is equally boring and irritating for the remainder of their time there yet Michelle and Tony seem to slip away without notice anyway. Naomi doesn't get a hug goodbye, or even a text.

Michelle's attitude on the weekend seems to be only a hiccup. Monday brings her round again and the cycle starts anew. More time together in ever greater lengths of time, until the weekend. Just as it is Effy's chance to shrug off the shackles of her so-called normal life for one of Class-A-soaked nostalgic debauchery, to suspend reality for a few days, it also becomes the time where Naomi is reminded that friendship doesn't trump romance. Michelle is standoff-ish with her guard up every moment Tony is near. And in all honesty, the same occurs to Naomi if Emily happens to be at a party or club (now thankfully rid of that insufferable Abigail and flying solo). Naomi keeps botching up her chances however in her pursuit of the red-head. Each step closer she gets, something pulls her back, waiting for a signal, longing for a push. Sometimes even her normally laser-focused vision is distracted by brunette waves and green eyes and it takes a definite force of will to refocus on Emily.

And so it is for weeks. Maybe it's months, Naomi can't be certain because after a while, it becomes routine. Routine becomes habit. Habit becomes second-nature. Weekdays volley between part-time shit jobs and outings with Michelle or Effy, and occasionally dodging into shop doorways or behind rows of books to avoid Emily. She still hasn't worked out the perfect, romantic and ultimately persuasive thing to say to win her back and she can't risk an encounter until she's certain it'll work. Parties remain the same: mostly shit with the sporadic highlight, while she spends the majority of her time chasing after Effy, staring at Emily overtop the heads of strangers and pretending that Michelle's weekend-indifference doesn't sting, even just a little. She can't admit that something is switching on, the suffocating fog of past relationships dissipating just slightly when she calls Michelle "Chelle" for the first time. The only real change that she is willing to admit is that she begins to loath Tony's presence, and even moreso the mention of his name during the week. He's merely Effy's intolerable brother. She won't admit much more than that.

Once she falls into this pattern, time moves slowly, seeping down through the calendar. It just erodes gently like rainfall on stone. Keeping track of its painfully lethargic movement is a waste of effort.

The monotony breaks finally one night as Naomi is lying half-awake in her bedroom, staring at the shadows passing over the ceiling above. Her body is thrumming from an unrecoverable dream that has just woken her. Her mind lazily drifts to Emily as her fingers wander into the crease between her thighs. It's always Emily at these moments of bliss. Creamy skin set ablaze by the contrasting crimson hair, brown eyes deep and patient but bold and a gaze strong. She sees the freckles on her shoulders and the tiny scar on her bottom lip left from Katie stabbing her with a fork when they were little. It's been months and she can still recall the touch of Emily's hands and lips and her raspy voice as she begged Naomi for release. Laying prone and alone on a rainy Bristol night, Naomi only sees white sand and sunshine and Emily's naked body writhing against her own. She hears the moans complimented by the distant howls of delight from revellers along Anjuna or Vagator and the crashes of ocean waves pounding against the beach - just like an ecological orchestra composed only for her own ears. Frenzy mounts as sweat trickles over them, the real-life pattering of rain becomes the countdown tick-tock of a bomb as she rides her own fingers, oblivious to reality.

Then from behind her eyelids come traitorous visions. Emily is no longer herself but instead, Naomi glimpses a different body, chestnut hair and the voice is altered, sparking memories of that long ago party. She feels Chelle instead against her. She cums fast before her mind can push the images back to Emily's profile, not that she can will that back into her imagination at the moment if she had wanted. Accepting the quirk in her fantasy, at least for the time being, she lets the vision fade as she draws in deep breaths. It's only after a minute or so that her eyes snap open again, fear coursing unbidden through her, spurring on by the pervasive confusion. She leaps out of bed, grasping almost desperately for her laptop, tossing the plush fox toy sitting on top of it aside. As she does, her gaze darts up and out of her window into the night sky, landing on _Canis major._ It provokes a momentary pause but shaking her head clear, she pulls open her computer and settles back into bed, pulling up photos of Goa and college. Anything to wipe away the realisation that she'd just come harder than she had done in ages, and it had little to do with Emily.

She falls back asleep with pixelated images of Emily burned into her eyelids.

.

* * *

.

It should have been obvious that with one small change in routine, everything else will unravel as well. It's physics. Or chemistry. Or something science-y that Naomi could not care less about. It's probably none of those things, just something like fate. And that itself is neither science nor rational. In fact, it's really just one of those things that no one sees while its happening but just in retrospect all the pieces seem to fuse together in an odd sort of puzzle that makes you wonder how on Earth you hadn't seen it coming sooner.

Naomi Campbell is not graced with a great deal of foresight however. And she hates physics.

It could perhaps be considered coincidence seeing JJ in the Bedminster Library two days later as she's idly flipping through an astronomy guidebook. It looks to be for children, teenagers at best, but she's got nothing better to do for a few hours until Michelle is off work, and all the books she had come here to look at are painfully dull. It's the last time she trusts the internet to make suggestions for reading material. Her gaze drifts over an illustration of Orion, one of the most recognisable constellations in the world. She already knows about the hunter and all that. She even knows, thanks to her father, about this set of stars and their relation to Frigg -the namesake of Friday- a Scandinavian goddess with the gift of prophecy, of seeing everyone's destinies yet refusing to reveal her visions. She chuckles, thinking about Effy suddenly. Frigg was the only woman granted the ability to sit beside Odin and view the entire universe.

She's interrupted from her amused pondering when there's a tap on her shoulder. Immediately preparing some sort of nasty comment she swings towards the source. She's granted only a very up-close view of a blue and green striped jumper. Her gaze slowly shifts upwards towards the face of the boy standing far closer than is generally accepted as polite. She squints. Once. Twice.

"JJ?"

He quirks a small smile. "Hi, Naomi." His hand waves hesitantly, as if he's not even certain if he should have said hello. The fact is, Naomi would never have noticed him otherwise. Not only is something strangely different about him now which makes him blend into the general mass of nameless idiots, but she doesn't give a shit really about anyone else in the library or otherwise. Without his previously noticeable differences, he's just morphed into one of the many. Despite his shy demeanour, he seems more confident, more self-assured somehow. His hair is shorter, the spots once all over his face have all but vanished and, well, he's not dressed like his mother picked out his wardrobe any longer. They play the staring game for a few minutes before Naomi rolls her eyes and gestures to the seat beside her as she pushes the stack of useless books she'd previously gathered out of the way.

"Christ, Jay, sit down. You're making me nervous."

The boy follows her instruction and takes a seat slowly, tapping his fingers against the Formica tabletop. Neither seem in any hurry to start the conversation. It's not that Naomi dislikes JJ exactly, but she barely knows him; she's never bothered to get to know him, never had a desire nor need. His quirks had been too much for her to handle in her petulant and bewildering beginning days of college, and there was that whole fuss with Emily in Year 12. And afterwards, any chance she'd had to get to know him had dissipated slowly after Sophia's death when Emily had taken him for hers alone, as if when they semi-broke-up they each staked a claim to particular friendships in teenage divorce settlement. She'd got custody of Cook and Effy; Emily had taken JJ and Katie. Now, it's awkward, very much so, actually. She thinks of Freddie, and the initially inseparable trio of boys. Too much had happened in college, so much that should have drawn the whole group of them closer, but in the end, it had only worked to drive them further and further apart. He's not quite a stranger now but he may as well be.

Eventually, bored of the penetrating silence between them, Naomi speaks. "So, what are you doing here? Though you'd gone away to uni."

JJ's eyes sparkle at the mention of university, or maybe at the idea of leaving Bristol. His lips form into a lop-sided smirk. "I have. It's just... just that. Well. I'm home to visit... Mum for a few days."

He doesn't give her much to work with as she senses that it's not her place to ask why. There's just something about the way he says "Mum" that makes it sound personal, too personal to talk with an acquaintance about. Instead, she purses her lips momentarily and nods, humming. "Cool." She realises she has no clue what to ask because she really has no idea what he's like. "Where, uh, do you study then?" This conversation is already like plucking hairs, one at a time. Tedious.

"London. Imperial College," he says proudly but his grin falters. "Not sure I like London much though. It's not like Bristol."

Naomi snorts. "Reckon that's probably a good thing, yeah?"

He shrugs. "Maybe."

She doesn't know why he came over to talk to her. This is hardly engaging conversation. Neither of them are particularly good small talkers, and especially not with each other. It's as if someone had turned the awkward dial to full capacity and sealed all the escape hatches. Just brilliant. Now she's thinking all sci-fi and geeky just like him.

"So are you at university in Bristol then?" he ventures carefully. He's seeking common ground. Naomi restrains a sneer as she realises that they're unlikely to find any such place.

Shaking her head disdainfully, she chuckles. "Not me, no."

He reaches over and slides the book she's reading towards himself and peers at the the pages. "So then why are you reading about astronomy?" The action is so bold for JJ and Naomi's put off by this change in him. He's no longer the painfully shy and completely socially inept boy she'd met in college. This is a different JJ, though maybe socially inept in a new way, unaware of personal boundaries. One that takes risks, even if they're small ones. Maybe university makes people change, in bad and good ways. She suspects it's more like it helps people grow up and fend for themselves in a way that she's not experienced living generally the same life as she had done since college began. Instead of praising this personal growth of his, she snatches the book page and closes it abruptly.

"Doesn't matter," she snaps, covering it with her folded arms and glaring at JJ as best she can in this state of confusion. What she expects from him never transpires. He doesn't shirk away, bumble an excuse to leave or get that look of fear in his eyes as she has become accustomed to. Instead, his smirk is slightly wider. He still can't meet her eyes, but this new JJ is a bit disconcerting. It's like all her power that she'd harnessed in college has dissipated in the light of his higher education. That idea makes her feel uncomfortable in his presence, and somewhat paranoid and depressed about the state of her own life.

JJ's staring at the corner of the book poking out from under her elbow. "I love astronomy," he admits matter-of-factly. "Wasn't able to fit in into my programme this year." He pauses as if he's lost his train of thought for a second. "Besides, first year astronomy lessons are not meant for people like me."

Naomi's certain this boy is going to turn into some nutty professor one day, sitting alone in a shit tip of an office and scribbling insane mathematical formulas over all his students' papers. Her own thoughtful meanderings are interrupted by his voice again. "You'd probably like them, you know."

Her blue eyes latch onto him, trying to pierce him with sheer force of will. She's fairly certain he's just called her stupid. "What's that supposed to mean?" she scowls, believing she knows full well what he means. Finally, something familiar happens and JJ appears to be momentarily flustered at her outburst. He stumbles around for words, muttering out some sort of half-arsed apology. It should make her feel better, that things aren't quite as buggered as she'd thought; in fact, underneath it all, they're still just the same idiot kids they were at Roundview. But somehow, all she feels now is guilty for pressing him so hard only to make herself feel more at ease. Fuck. Guilt is such a prevalent part of her existence now. _What would Emily do?_

"JJ, look," she starts but never gets the chance to finish before he's shaking his head quite adamantly against her words, his eyes clenched shut. He's blocking her out so she huffs out a long breath and waits for him to settle down a bit before continuing. "Sorry, okay?"

She watches his shoulders sag and dip, and the muscles in his face begin to relax until he's regained his new sense of composure. It's likely as new a state for him and it is for her. This adjustment to being a grown-up doesn't seem to happen in one easy swoop. They sit in the near-silence of the library surrounding them. Someone drops a book nearby and they both flinch at the sound. It's like a switch is flipped and JJ's reversed everything that had just happened, gone back to confident new JJ. "You were looking at Orion," he states with an air of pride, but it's laced with hesitancy as well.

She nods. "Yeah."

"You know what's interesting about that one?"

Blonde hair sways as she shakes her head, waiting for him to explain some completely boring thing about binaries or light years or similar bollocks. He clears his throat and she winces.

" _Canis major_ and _Canis minor_ can be found from following the line of his belt and his shoulders."

The information doesn't intrigue Naomi in any way whatsoever. "So?"

"There are the interpretations of those stars as being Orion's hounds but they also represent the irresistible force paradox. The question of what happens when an unstoppable or irresistible force meets an immovable object. N-Not that any such thing can exist as any immovable object would necessarily need to possess infinite mass, and thus doing so would create a singularity, a black hole. Which, inversely, actually is surrounded by an event horizon." Off Naomi's puzzled look, JJ attempts to explain further. "It's something that as a particle approaches close enough, it has such a strong gravitational pull that escape is then impossible." He smirks as if privy to some secret knowledge about all that bollocks.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asks, slightly irritated by the boring abstract concepts and jargon she's only ever heard whilst flicking through the channels on boring Saturday afternoons. "What does any of that have to do with constellations of dogs?"

JJ tries to keep his composure in light of her dismissive attitude towards the information he's belaying onto her. "H-Hound and fox, Major and Minor," he clarifies and a darkness comes over his face, as if he doesn't want to speak about it any longer; as if he's tired of wasting his breath on someone who doesn't appreciate his cosmological offering. He doesn't tell her to look it up because as out of touch as he can be, he knows at least that Naomi would never actually do anything he asked of her. She barely did anything even Emily had asked of her at the best of times.

Naomi likes things to be simple. Suddenly what were just a bunch of stars twinkling in the sky every so often are transformed into things with this deep, unfathomable meaning that she can't quite grasp. Annoyed at this, she glowers at the boy, trying to impress on him how much time he's just wasted. Hers and his own. JJ's not exactly a skilled reader of emotional and social cues and as a result, the message flies over his head, yet something must click somewhere because he shifts away slightly, preparing to leave.

"I like astronomy too," he repeats from earlier. "It's constant." His voice has a strange quality to it, almost wistful. It's something she'd never heard from him ever before. As someone who is painfully blunt and awkward, he had never actually revealed that he felt emotions the same way as the rest of them. He was either completely overwhelmed or completely void of feeling, in her presence anyway.

Naomi's eyes flick sharply to him with the familiar sentiment. She hates the feeling that she and JJ may be alike in some way, well, other than both being able to say they shagged a fit lesbian in college. What a club they would make: The Shaggers of Emily and Lovers of Constellations Club. _Gross._ As she's considering the idea, JJ moves away, gathering his own books under his arm.

All she can do is leap at the chance. "Have you heard from Emily?" She hates how overwrought she sounds in her own ears.

JJ's pauses, halfway out of his seat for a moment, as if caught in some trap, a deer in headlights. He nods, swallowing hard before standing up fully. It's fucking pissing her off that not two minutes ago she couldn't shut JJ up, and now he seems incapable of speaking. _Dumb mong._ She's about to ignore him when he coughs softly. Glancing over, she sees his hands trembling and immediately another wave of guilt rises up from her gut, crashing into her mind. Her voice softens, "Did she say anything about me?"

Their eyes lock, icy blue on icy blue, like deep space meteors seconds before collision. He swallows visibly, obviously quite uncomfortable with the position he's suddenly in. She recognises the fear in his eyes. _What did Emily used to call it? Locking in? Locking down?_ Well, no matter, cos whatever it is, she senses it's about to happen again. Her own gaze softens as she tries to shift the pressure from him specifically. "I just... I don't know where her head is at." She pauses, uncertain about revealing any of this to JJ, who for all intents and purposes is almost like not only a stranger, but his loyalties are to the opposing forces. "Or what she's thinking about the future. About us. Or me. Or her. Like..." She trails off, having said too much already.

There is a very heavy, suffocating sort of silence that descends over them again as JJ just stares, not at her eyes, but her chin it looks like. He can't quite return her desperate stare but he appears to be thinking quite a lot, something is spinning in that muddled-up mind of his. Eventually, there's a slight raise of his eyelids, like he's had some kind of epiphany and Naomi's chest grows tighter in anticipation.

Reaching over, he picks up Naomi's pen and flips open the book she had been reading. Leaning down practically over her shoulder, he scribbles some mathematics formula on the back inside cover. It's just a bunch of triangles and funny looking letters that she vaguely recognises from maths lesson years ago. He underlines it emphatically a few times before handing her pen back.

"Have you ever heard of the EPR paradox of entangled particles?" he asks excitedly.

There's a moment where Naomi says nothing; instead, she just stares completely impassively at his jittery form, practically vibrating with energy. JJ doesn't pick up on her non-verbal cue so she sighs. "Why the fuck would _I_ have ever heard about that bollocks?" She hadn't meant to sound like such a prick about it, but it was her default setting when people did and said things she couldn't understand. The sarcasm and disdain pass over JJ like he hasn't even noticed them. He shrugs, consciously considering the reason why she honestly may have heard about the concept. Giving up on finding a rational theory, he points to the formula again, tapping it a few times forcing her attention towards the garbled symbols.

"It's based around the Uncertainty principle, Naomi," he says slowly to her, as if she's a child.

Clenching her teeth from coming up with a nasty retort to his tone, she responds with a measure of strong self-control. "Yeah, _and_? JJ, honestly, what's your point? What has Emily said?"

"Doesn't matter." He mutters it nervously and against her better judgement, an angry scowl stretches over her face, threatening.

 _That's it. That's just fucking it._ Her patience has reached far beyond its limit and JJ is just standing there, practically hovering over her and all she wants to do is grab the irritating boy and shake him into talking sense. Her fists clench of their own accord but relax when JJ begins stuttering, trying to force out his thoughts before they're quite ready. At least he's trying, she supposes.

"The more p-precisely the current position of a particle is determined, the less precisely the momentum is known in this instant, and vice versa. The more accurately you measure one property, the less likely you will be to measure or control the other. It's just nature."

Naomi winces, her teeth catching her bottom lip as she stares blankly at the scrawled letters in the book. There's a message she's not quite hearing yet and JJ just keeps poking at the symbols, as if the meaning is inherently crystal clear. "I can tell you what Emily is feeling right now, quite accurately in fact," he explains, again slowly but this time Naomi's somewhat thankful for the pace. "But likely it will only work to blur what you expect to happen. You won't be able to see the future or where she's going any better because of it. May make it worse. The observation even makes you part of the system, which alters it, or perception at least."

"I'm already part of it," Naomi protests, but finds her voice betraying her and coming out pathetic and weak. "It's about me."

JJ merely smirks down at her and she's becoming really fucking tired of this attitude from him, like he knows it all just cos he throws around a bunch of triangles and maths theories and he's so clever at his uni now. It's all rubbish anyway.

He shakes his head, finding familiarity and comfort and thus, confidence, in his static formulas and their application to human life, as ridiculous as that is in itself. He really doesn't understand being human, she's sure. She huffs and waves a hand dismissively at him. "Thanks for nothing, Jay," she growls, her voice sulky and disappointed that he couldn't give her a straight answer. Just for once. It's all she really asks. How is that such a bloody difficult wish to grant?

JJ's mobile ringing causes them both to jump, and his face turns a deep shade of pink as he fumbles desperately for the source of the noise. It's so him, the sound. All robotic, like lift-off aboard a space shuttle or some shit. "I've-I've got to go," he squeaks out, flustered and pressing at various keys to silence the alarm. "My m-mum needs me."

Naomi allows him to flee without even a goodbye. It's peculiar though. The name that flashed up on his screen hadn't looked so much like "Mum" as it had "Emily".


	3. the ebb and flow

It should have been a sign that the day was about to become even less ordinary. The thing is though, Naomi isn't really paying attention to any of the warning signs. She'd need a big flashing billboard with it spelled out to her in simple words in order to even consider the possibility that anything else was about to be turned upside down and inside out. Running into the irritatingly cryptic JJ had been the extent of things she could possibly imagine. Interesting things simply didn't happen too often in Bristol anymore, and certainly not more than one anomaly in a single day. Of course, the fact that the next situation began gradually doesn't help her recognise it for what it is immediately.

Michelle texts her, as is the norm, the _routine_. Nothing odd about that. She responds after a few minutes, trying not to seem too eager, which is odd in itself cos that's the sort of game people play with people they fancy, not regular friends. Normal people can text their friends a response milliseconds later and it doesn't mean anything deeper than "we're having a conversation". But with people you fancy the rules change for some reason. However, well, Naomi doesn't fancy Michelle, like _at all_. At least that's what she repeated to herself last night while imprinting digital photos of Emily into her brain and making up excuses, for the 3rd night in a row. It's all very confusing and it's easier just to ignore the niggling questions her own behaviour raises within the cacophony otherwise known as her mind.

The moment she sees Michelle coming across the park, something is off. Her walk is hurried and sharp; it looks likes she's definitely angry and Naomi groans inwardly at having to listen to another play-by-play of her and Tony's latest stupid row. She positively loathes speaking about Tony now, or even listening to Michelle whinge on about him. It's terribly redundant and she honestly thinks the girl is an idiot for not just dumping the tosser straight up. In all fairness though, she'd prefer Michelle's incessant complaints as opposed to her disgustingly sweet gushing about what a wonderful boyfriend he is now and how in love they really are, despite their rows and how it may appear to everyone else. It's interesting that she always qualifies such statements of love with that disclaimer.

But as the brunette draws nearer, it's obvious the source of her ire is likely far more related to the wet stains covering her white top. She's fussing with it, flapping the loose fabric in an effort to dry it. Coming up beside the blonde, Michelle is positively fuming.

"Bloody fucking wankers," she shouts to no one in particular, and no one in particular even seems to care. Not a single head turns their way. Lovely, indifferent Bristolians. Before Naomi even has the chance to ask what happened, her friend is already involved in a rant to explain the situation. "Some cocky little bastards with water pistols thought it would be funny to scream 'Wet t-shirt contest' and assault me with water on my way here." She groans again in agitation, flapping her hands around, fanning the nearly see-through fabric. "Boys like that need a proper kicking. Right up their little pre-pubescent arseholes."

There's little Naomi can do other than stare, her eyes growing wider with Michelle's choice of language. She really could let out some quite impressive swearing when truly riled up. She shouldn't find it quite as amusing as she does and does an impressive show of hiding her smirk. Michelle was likely coming from Effy's just south there on Elvaston, which was literally not even 10 minutes away, and in that time she'd managed to be completely soaked by a bunch of brats. And now is growling and pacing like a near-drowned cat, muttering about some kids named James and Gordon. Naomi doesn't clue into who the little perverts really are.

Finally she finishes off her rant with a dramatically drawn out sigh. Naomi's not certain who Michelle's actually even speaking to anyone specific anymore, just venting to the grass and trees it appears. That is, until she faces Naomi face-on and asks, "Does it look like I wanted a shower?"

The question is meant to be rhetorical obviously. She's not meant to answer it, or even consider the realistic possibility. But that's the irritating thing about fancying someone (even if you deny it, and sometimes even if you don't fancy them at all): when they say "shower", your thoughts immediately and without reserve take a leap into fantasy. And not really any dirty, smutty sort of way. More like a daydream. Naomi certainly is not standing in a public, very open park picturing her current companion butt-naked with water cascading over her shoulders. Not quite anyway. It's just the words somehow spark something in her belly, and her head tilts to the side slightly as if studying droplets of water trail down an exposed neck, or a bare leg. But it could hardly be counted as even a fantasy considering it evaporates as quickly as it came; the rational, practical side of Naomi's mind leaps to attention instead, reminding her that thoughts such as those are unwelcome in friendships. And this is very much only a friendship. She's in love with Emily. People who are in love with Emily Fitch should not be considering the curves of another girl's pelvis as water slides down into the dip. Not at all. Emily has a lovely pelvis, lovely hips. Lovely everything. Very lovely indeed. The image fades, but there's a nudge deep inside her belly that Naomi has to physically scratch at the surface to distract herself from.

Meanwhile, Michelle's regarding her curiously, apparently waiting for a response but Naomi's not clear if there was even a question. She's been a bit preoccupied and didn't hear it if there had been. She shrugs, mumbles a "Yeah." out of habit and sighs, glancing away from the other girl.

"Ugh, whatever. Anyway, I need a drink," Michelle states, pinning Naomi with an imploring gaze that the blonde attempts to ignore. She's not really in the mood to get drunk midday Tuesday just because some twatty kids got Michelle's top a little damp. _Damp._ That word should not be in her vocabulary. Not now especially.

She has a better idea and tells Michelle so but the suggestion is met with reluctance.

"Ah, I don't think so."

Naomi scoffs, pulling out the spliff and waving it about. She forgets sometimes that Michelle isn't Effy, and baiting her with drugs won't really draw her approval. "Why not? I don't have any drink and neither do you."

"There's a pub just on Windmill Hill, yeah? It's only a few blocks."

There's really no need to inform Naomi about that particular place. It's right across from her bloody house after all. She could add in the off-license down the road as well but she decides to stay schtum. Honestly, there's nothing she wants less at this moment than to get sloshed at her local. Or at her house with supplies from the offy. Michelle's never come round and now's not the time to change that. Girls coming back to hers other than Emily always results in disaster. Plain and simple. Sophia. That pigshit Mandy. All of Emily's _ladies in waiting_. JJ's piece. Katie and Jenna Fitch. Oh, Jesus, that cunt Arsey. Or whatever the fuck her shit-stained name was that gave Cook up to the plod. It was just a bad temptation of fate, like her house is cursed. It'd be easier to just head back to Effy's really. It's just as close. Closer actually. By about 5 minutes. And not quite as cursed. Maybe.

Naomi shakes her head. She will refuse. She must. It would break her and Effy's schedule. They only get drunk on weekends and the occasional bank holiday. Spliff is the only acceptable option during weekdays. "Come on, Chelle. I know a place here. It's fine." She hears herself and realises she sounds strangely reminiscent of those anti-peer-pressure adverts she'd seen as a child.

Michelle winces a little with discomfort. "I don't really... do that."

The words don't seem to compute initially and the blonde blinks, refocuses and waits for clarification. "What do you mean?" The idea is foreign, like completely alien.

With an irritated sigh, the older girl gestures to the joint. "That. Drugs. Not really my thing. Never has been." She smirks and offers a conciliation. "I do love my vodka though."

Naomi's face morphs into complete disbelief. She's seen Michelle smoke, and drink of course. And she's friends with that whole bag of assholes, so Naomi's pretty sure that people like Anwar the Tit and Tony have never met a drug they didn't like. "So, what, you've never...?"

"Of course I have, you daft cow," Michelle teases (but it comes out a little too harshly for Naomi's taste). "I just don't really care to now is all."

It's been an odd, shitty sort of day and the last thing the blonde is interested in is debating the pros and cons of recreational drugs use. She shrugs, looks Michelle over with something resembling disdain, and puts the spliff to her lips. "Well, I'm going over to that grove at the south-east. Near the small hockey pitch, yeah? You can join me or not, I don't give a toss but I'm not going to get pissed on a Tuesday afternoon." With yet another shrug, she turns towards her destination and isn't at all surprised to hear footsteps padding after her across the grass.

She really should have known better. Those children's adverts warned about peer-pressure and drugs. She should have listened.

.

* * *

.

The lush green grass is lovely in the sun; warm tickles of nature licking at the skin on her bare legs as the wind rustles the blades, the sunshine bearing down but not too heavily on them as they pass the joint back and forth. It's been quite a while since she'd shared this with another person. _This is so wonderful it should be illegal_ , Naomi muses to herself, and sputters into a weak fit of giggles at the thought. Without even knowing what the blonde is so amused about, Michelle chuckles along too only pausing as she takes a pull, flicking a bit of ash carelessly into the breeze that also snatches away the wisps of smoke from her lungs. The trees behind them block them from most of the usual passersby along the footpath. The spliff has burnt down to a small nub as Naomi plucks it from Michelle's weak grasp. She sucks it in until the fire extinguishes and the heat burns her fingers. Dropping the remaining bit into the grass, she lies back, the sun cascading from somewhere behind her, giving her a rather boring yet not unwanted view of the empty pitch. She prefers it like this anyway, empty, lonely, even though she doesn't feel lonely at all with Michelle somewhere to her right. The prickles of grass around her sway slightly as the other girl settles down until her back as well after taking a deep swig from the water bottle Naomi always carries with her.

It's not clear when they had begun talking, like proper talking, but suddenly Naomi is aware of Michelle's voice slowly relaying something about her old friends. She's recalling a friend Jal, her best friend from college who has moved far away. Naomi can't remember what Michelle had said a few seconds ago. Master's programme in ... Music? Somewhere cold is all Naomi can think when it comes time to remember where she was studying. Probably Scotland then? Scotland never really seemed like a particular pillar of musical education, what with all the grating bagpipes, bodhrans and funny Highland dancing. Michelle's saying something about missing Jal, like quite a lot, but there's no reason for her to come home to Bristol anytime soon. Somehow, without Naomi saying much more than a quiet "Oh.", Michelle's moved onto the topic of another friend, Cassie. This one's weirder and it's making her skin prickly.

 _Oh. No. That is just a rather large ant curiously crawling along her arm._ _Stupid insects._ She swats it away, missing part of Michelle's story in the process of focussing on the tiny creature. She thinks she's got the whole tale however. At least the important bits. Cassie sounds like a character from a fairytale, like one of those fucked up modern ones, but a fairytale nonetheless. She doesn't sound quite real. Maybe she isn't. Maybe she's a figment of Michelle's cannabis-induced high. It wouldn't be the first time a stoner came up with a weird thought. That would all maybe seem like the most logical option had Michelle not been throwing in names of people Naomi also knew, like that Sid geek. What a tool.

"Why didn't he...like... just go after her?" she finds herself asking without even realising it, her own voice sounding soft and unfamiliar. After all, that's what you're supposed to do when people you love leave, and if you're still in love and they still love you. You go after them. Naomi knows that well enough, knows it from both sides having been the pursued and the pursuer. She's not that talented at the latter, but she has a go anyway.

Michelle sighs, her head turning to gaze over at her friend. "New York City is massive, Naomi." _Oh, right._ "It's not like you can just show up, walk down the road and find a specific person. Not like here." Her voice holds resentment, probably cos of all the parties they seem to end up with old mates from college and shit.

"Hmm, I guess."

"Like, if you are that ant, yeah?" she muses and gestures to the stubborn ant that has resumed its journey up Naomi's arm. "And this park is New York and all the blades of grass are skyscrapers and so there's that; but then imagine if as well, there are millions of other ants everywhere. But you need to find just one. It's gonna take bloody ages, no? Especially if someone doesn't want to be found."

The clouds in the sky above them are swirling it seems. Slowly morphing into shapes, all unrecognisable things, imaginary creatures with multiple tails and multiple heads, like that Cerberus dog at the gates of Hades. But fluffy, soft and not terrifying at all. She's heard the explanation Michelle's given her and doesn't feel a need to push the issue. She's right probably, even though Naomi's quite sure neither one of them has actually been to America to know how true it all is. It's just like the films, yeah? They'll both have to take Sid's word for it. Only then does she feel a second trail along her arm following in the wake of the almost imperceptible footsteps of the ant. Glancing down with some effort, she sees Michelle's finger lazily trailing behind the insect as it journeys across the ticklish skin of the inside of her elbow and then over the hump of a bicep. There's a glazed look in the brunette's green eyes as if she's not quite focused but also concentrating too hard. It doesn't tickle really, not until Michelle touches her there, under her elbow.

Biting down on her lip does nothing as eventually the laughter escapes. The sound appears to rattle her companion for a moment before she recognises the source and the reason, and then there's more than one finger, a whole hand of them actually, climbing towards the top of her arm, dipping down into her armpit. Wiggling. Niggling. It starts as a chuckle again but erupts into full-out laugher in a matter of seconds. It feels nice to laugh. It's sort of artificial since it's been inspired by both drugs and physical manipulation, but all the same, it's nice. Michelle giggling alongside her doesn't hurt either. Not many people know she's even ticklish, save Emily and Cook. Cook, only cos he's twat and in some less-than-brilliant stroke of inspiration, went for it one day at her house and she hadn't been quick enough to dodge away from his fluttering fingers. A swift kick to the groin had put him off for a while. And Emily, well, Emily was the only one allowed to actually touch her like that, mostly because she'd seen her lose control in much more interesting and embarrassing ways than convulsing from laughter. Tickling was nothing in comparison to that. Really, how could it when she'd cum all over her face before? Emily knew full well what the usual composed Naomi Campbell looked like when she's lost all sense of herself. Without thinking, Naomi pushes Michelle away, slightly too roughly, almost like she's angry. She's not, at least not that she's aware of herself, but she can't lose herself. Not now and not yet.

Thankfully, Michelle doesn't seem too concerned with the rebuttal, she's too dazed herself, and lies back down in the grass, staring at the same blue sky. They're silent. Naomi's not able to tell how long it's been, the weed playing tricks with her sense of time, stretching it out beyond all reason, sometimes snapping it back and making her wonder if she's missed something. Broken pieces of time, stretched and snapped, like elastic bands around her fingers. She contemplates JJ suddenly and without warning and her mind starts to derail with the meaning of that meeting. What was the point? What did it mean? What the fuck was he even on about anyway? She grasps at the remnants of their conversation, attempting to fit the pieces she does remember together into a big picture. Halfway through, she forgets what she was doing and becomes preoccupied with the idea of puzzles. Like those cardboard ones, not theoretical ones. They always had silly photos of fluffy puppies or boring Venetian canals. Why did people do puzzles? Honestly, you could just look at the box and see the final picture. What's the point? The futility of store-bought puzzles is forgotten instantly when Michelle's voice wafts over the din in her mind. Paranoia leaks in suddenly, wondering if she'd been thinking out loud... or maybe Michelle can read her mind or something equally bizarre. When the words reach her ears, she's relieved to recognise that they have no connection to her previous train of thought.

"What would you do if..." Her voice trails off as she seems to rethink her question. "You're like, gay. Can you see yourself spending the rest of your life with a man? Does it ever..." She never finishes the question and Naomi's glad for that. The whole concept is as confusing in its motivation as it is in its answer. She hadn't actually considered it a possibility, not since Emily. She was going to spend the rest of her life with Emily.

Now she's certain she's spoken aloud cos Michelle huffs and says with an air of irritation, "Okay, but what if that doesn't... I mean. What if there was a man?"

This is starting to teeter on the typical 'But have you ever been with a man?' or 'You've just not met the right one yet' edge. She fucking despises this cliff. In retaliation, Naomi snaps, "Well, can you see yourself spending the rest of your life with a woman?" She'll toss Michelle off the cliff instead.

She expects a smart-arse reply, something quick and defensive and is thrown when there is actually no response. Nothing. Not a huff, not a sigh. She waits. It could be for a few seconds, or a few minutes. When she does turn her head towards the brunette, green eyes are staring, slightly blearily, at her. She meets the gaze, suddenly feeling strange as they hold it. Something is squirming in her gut, something like she'd felt seeing Chelle in her wet t-shirt. As if something clicks, Michelle breaks the stare, rolls her face back up to the sky. "Maybe. I don't know. I've never really..." It sounds raw, a little bit unsure, a lot strangled.

She seems to suddenly become aware of her confession and adds quickly, "I _love_ Tony."

Naomi rolls her eyes "Of course you do. And I love Emily." There's something about how the words escape that makes her uncomfortable, especially in relation to what they were meant to respond to. She does love Emily, and Emily loves her. They just need time apart. But Tony? Well, he's a twat and Naomi's not entirely convinced Michelle loves him so much as is clinging desperately to him because of what he represents. Better days. Exciting days. Comfortable days. The old days. Days she knew well and felt alive in. The perfect life. He's sociable, and popular, and desirable and if she's with him maybe she becomes those things too. He's what she wishes to be, makes her a better person, or so she thinks probably. So she clings to a boy who maybe loved her once, probably a lot even, with his whole heart but cos growing up is shit, has left that part of him to wither and fade in the glare of the future. _Why the fuck does it feel so familiar?_ Tony's an ass. He doesn't really seem to love her much anymore, at least to any third-parties. She knows Effy thinks the same. But maybe it's just something that you can't get out of, like how she'd felt back before Sophia. Trapped.

Nodding to herself mostly, Michelle takes a deep breath, squinting as a gull flies low overhead, surveying the two girls, scavenging for scraps of a picnic that never existed. Once again, Naomi has to calm herself that other people cannot actually read her mind when Michelle breaks the silence. "Maybe... it doesn't matter. Once you're in it, no matter who it's with, you can't get out of love. That's what I was asking, you know." The gull, still circling above, answers her with a cry. The question seems much less offensive now that she explains it. She wasn't questioning Naomi's sexuality; she was pondering if other people felt the inevitability of love. "It's kind of inescapable."

"Yeah," Naomi concedes finally. Her head lolls in the grass, comfortably coming to face the profile of the older girl. Michelle is still gazing upwards at the sky, her eyelids half-fallen against the brightness of the early autumn day. She's pretty in this light, at this angle. Not like Emily, of course. There's no brilliant flash of fire, creamy pale skin to contrast. Delicate, petite features. Michelle's not like that. And she even looks different now from the girl she'd met in the shadowed and crowded room at the party what seems like an age ago. Younger, if that's possible. It's not, not really. People don't grow younger. That's impossible. She finds herself chuckling for no particular reason. Naomi reckons maybe they should do this more often. Peering across the very small gap between them, Michelle catches Naomi staring and raises an eyebrow to compliment her smirk.

"What?"

Shaking her blonde hair as best she can, she laughs. "Nothing. Just wondering what it'd be like if people could grow backwards. Like get younger."

Michelle appears to seriously consider the question, her gaze darting elsewhere as if the scenery someplace has an answer. "Then they wouldn't really be _growing_ would they?"

With a quiet hum, Naomi shrugs. "I guess." She closes her eyes, savouring the warmth of the sunshine against her face. Soon it will shift and shadows will slowly creep over them. "We should do this more often," she finds herself saying in almost a whisper. The weed has made her far too relaxed to really care about what all this could mean, like why she still has something burning near the base of her spine, licking out and up, like those fucking yoghurt or soap adverts that show slow-motion video of silk, twisting and sliding effortlessly through the air. She can't care about that feeling, cos it's just the drugs, right? It's _always_ just the drugs. She giggles to herself again, before forcing her eyelids apart and squinting over at Michelle who's beaming back at her, even though she's still not actually responded to the suggestion. Or invitation. Whatever it was.

The giggles turn into another bout of infectious laughter, passing back and forth between them. It feels fucking good to just laugh for no reason.

See, it's all very normal. There had been no reason to really suspect that things were about to change significantly once again. JJ had been out of the ordinary, so had the previous nights' unsought fantasies. It was quite enough. There was no bastardised concept of the Rule of Threes in her mind. So, whilst the day had been odd from the stroke of midnight onwards, the sunshine was waning and so too must the oddness. Most likely, even Michelle herself doesn't expect it, and wouldn't have even if she had known about the events of Naomi's day in any sort of detail.

This is why, during a pause in the giggles, they are both equally shocked to feel lips against their own. It's Michelle who has to pull back; she's the one who had taken that step too far. The laughter dies immediately as her eyes grow wide. Naomi notices how dilated her pupils are at the moment and the surrounding irises usually a hazelish-green are almost the same hue as the tree leaves around them. Suddenly that feeling in the pit of her stomach is back with a vengeance, gnawing and clawing at her for freedom. But she doesn't know what the fuck it is and if it's even a good idea to let it out. Best to keep it locked up tight.

Whatever it is, it's precisely what she blames for her action from then on. As if controlling her body from the inside out, going with her gut instead of her head, she offers a quick smile. It's not especially welcoming or encouraging, but it's enough.

Michelle winces, "Do you like me?"

The question itself is immature, _preposterous_ even, and Naomi's amazed that she's finally found a situation in which to apply such a posh, pretentious sounding word. Of course she bloody does or else they wouldn't have started this complex and now altogether insane friendship. She looks up at the clouds for the best way to answer and is met only with fluffy, careless white puffballs. So she nods in affirmation, unaware of the ardent stare from a pair of green eyes. When no further question comes, she glances over again, offers a small supplementary smile and catches the gaze.

The brunette shifts closer again, tentatively brushing her lips against Naomi's for a second time. There's no reason for this; there's no liquor, and they're both in love with other people, right? Naomi knows she can't quite use even the excuse that she's lonely, cos, honestly, she's not really. She's actually been quite all right for the past little while. This isn't desperation and this isn't a game to manipulate Tony. This is... _Shit_. It may not be a first kiss but it fucking feels like it. That time before, at that party, they'd been completely wasted and complete strangers to each other, and it was supposed to have been the end of getting carried away. This is a lot like none of that, not even the carried away part. Sure there's the pot, but Naomi suspects this maybe was bound to happen with or without the drugs. Sort of like kissing Emily had been...

Normally the thought of her causes Naomi to flinch, pull back, second guess everything, but none of that is happening either. Instead, she presses a little harder herself.

It's so bloody soft. Gentle perhaps. Tentative but not fearful. Lazy but not careless. And it lasts for fucking ever. Ages upon ages, really. Or at least that's how it feels, but in a good way. A very good way that has worked to amplify how lovely the afternoon had been up to that point. If it stretched on forever like this, she's not sure she'd complain. There's just the two of them now, lying in the sunshine, slowly exploring. At one moment Naomi's tempted to move even closer, grab hold of an arm, an edge of a t-shirt, anything to pull them closer but the next moment, the idea vanishes and she's content just to drift along with the steady current; then it's back, the desire to do just a little more. Again, it fades. Over and over, it comes and goes like the ebb and flow of the ocean, the contentment winning every time as the waves draw back. She limits her hands to a light touch, cradled in the dip of a small waist and doesn't flinch as a smooth palm slips over her jaw and deft fingers twist idly through blonde strands.

Maybe it's 3 minutes later, maybe it's half an hour but when it ends, the air seems heavy and loaded. What previously had been a new, tentative friendship _-_ and _only_ friendship despite the rough start - is markedly different. Naomi wants to blame the spliff but knows she can't. Not this time. Michelle looks away almost immediately. While Naomi's heart may belong chained to the unyielding, immovable weight of another, it's Michelle who's actually in a relationship. Her face begins to betray the first signs of panic as she sits up abruptly, wiping a hand tiredly over her face and shaking her head.

"Oh god."

She's taken the words right out of Naomi's mouth, who, at the moment is torn between confusion and absolutely completely loathing Michelle for what's she's done to them. They were fine before. A little dodgy, yeah, but it was all fine. She had enjoyed having a mate that wasn't Effy and wasn't mental. Now it's well fucked up.

Although, perhaps all is not lost. "It was just a kiss."

The brunette turns, grimaces momentarily, and then faces back towards the rows of houses beyond. She laughs scornfully, "Yeah. Sure."

 _For Christ's sake._ Naomi's forced to play the rational one now. It literally was just a snog. Unfortunately, it seems packed with a little too much meaning even though what that even is still isn't clear. "Whatever. Forget it, okay?" It feels as though she's trying to convince herself just as much as Michelle.

The older girl pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms over them and sits there in silent consideration of the proposition. Eventually she looks back over her shoulder at Naomi who has now also taken a cross-legged seat on the grass. "Can we go back to friends?"

That's precisely what Naomi wants so she shrugs. She doesn't see why not. There's no set rule that snogging signalled a definite end of a friendship. If neither dwells on it, it doesn't mean anything. Probably. No, it most certainly does not mean anything. They're only making it mean something by going on like this. When she's back with Emily, this whole day won't even be a blip in her memory, that's how inconsequential it is. Then there's a sigh from the older girl.

"Okay then."

The conversation ceases at that moment. The only sounds shared between them are the distant gleeful cries of some children in the park and the rumble of the occasional car down the streets adjacent. A few birds accompany the din, but no other voices. She grits her teeth.

The tension snaps easily when out of nowhere, a boy stands in front of them. He's grinning in amusement but there's the smallest hint of confusion on his thin lips.

"Nips," he smirks and then glances to Naomi. "Naomi."

Naomi rolls her eyes at the unbidden presence. Tony Stonem is like chlamydia: everywhere cool and clueless people are, there he is too, jumping from one person to the next, constantly irritating everyone and making them all uncomfortable. Furthermore, just when you think you're _finally_ rid of him, oh! Up he pops again to make life even more unbearable than it was before. She just can't find peace. And worse, his presence is causing Michelle to fidget uneasily like she really does have an itchy rash in her pants.

There's much too long a wait, much longer a pause than there should be, before she pulls her mask into place and greets him with that annoyingly and cloying trill, "Hi Tone." Scrambling up to her feet, she grabs him by the front of his jumper and shoves her tongue quite obviously down his throat. "I was just thinking about you, babe." Sticking out her tits and fluttering her eyelashes and all. It's gross.

Maybe this time is really is the spliff talking but Naomi snorts at the comment. Loudly. Tony's gaze fixes on her for only a second before he shrugs. It's Michelle's warning death-glare that is far more hurtful.

"Missed me, then?" he asks her smugly. "Just came to meet Kenneth to get some pills and tickets for the weekend. Fancy seeing you two instead."

Naomi crawls to her feet, snatching up her bag and turning to hide yet another eye-roll from the two idiots in front of her. "See you later," she tosses over her shoulder as she stalks away across the green not even pausing to listen for a reply.

.

* * *

.

"Later" doesn't seem to be anytime soon when after two days, Naomi's not heard a word from Michelle. It's fine. Perfectly fine in fact since she's got her shit job to keep her occupied anyway. But when her mobile beeps with a new text message, her heart thuds a bit faster than normal and she glances down, surprised to recognise how much she hopes it's Michelle.

It's not.

The familiar digits spear her vision, the name even moreso. _Emily_. If she had thought her heart was going a little overboard before, it's nothing compared to the reaction she's having to finally, _finally_ having that name pop up, reaching out for communication. Panic sets in quickly as she reads the words. 4 simple words that could mean so many things, both horrible and wonderful.

_We need to talk._

Talking had never been her strong point but she's willing to give it a go again; for Emily, she'd try anything once. Or twice. Or repeatedly even if she's shit at it. Her manic and exceptionally strong pulse pushes against her wrists, fingertips, chest. It's like she can feel Emily inside her, in her bloodstream, already, wild and full of energy. Everything they had been before, everything that Emily had made her feel by the lake. Her emotions alternate from nervous to enthralled to scared to elated and back again, all in a cycle that Naomi likes to call love. It's exhausting but it's worth it. With trembling fingers, she responds simply with _OK_.

There's no immediate reply. And not even one for the rest of her shift. By the time her manager gives her the go-ahead to leave, there's still nothing. Whatever she'd been feeling before faded fairly quickly and Naomi's a little pissed off with herself for allowing it to just disappear like that. Years ago, she'd have been on pins and needles for bloody hours at time. But today, between doing her job and her thoughts getting all jumbled up, she'd only managed to focus on the possibilities about a third of the time. She blames the drama with Michelle for interfering as whatever had happened there tangled itself around thoughts of Emily. Sometimes it was related to what Emily would think (if she was dumb enough to actually let it slip) and just what it all meant on its own.

Instead of taking her usual route home, she detours back into the Victoria Park and south towards Effy's house. If there was one person who may have some semblance of insight about what all this shit is about, it would be her and Naomi can only hope that she's not in one of her moods. Those are the worst, but considering she's not had any strange and cryptically dense messages left on her answerphone lately, she doesn't suspect that will be a problem. With some relief, she notices that Tony's ugly blue car isn't parked out front. In fact, she can't see it anywhere down the street and takes that as a good sign. One less issue.

But when she knocks, loudly, four times, and there still comes no answer, she pulls out the spare key Effy had given her once a long time ago. Very rarely had she needed to use it, and well, Anthea didn't even know she possessed it. That was all the better cos Naomi reckons Anthea's not too fond of her. She seems to want Effy to stay cooped up, alone and miserable, inside her soft, dull bedroom for the rest of her life just like she had been in that fucking asylum for all those months after Freddie's death. So, really, it's an excellent thing that, for the most part, Anthea's a terrible mother and isn't actually home the majority of the time. Naturally, that's where Tony's meant to step in and take over, except he's just as preoccupied with his own life as Effy is with blotter art, and she certainly loves that. Now seems like a good time to use the key.

There's no sound downstairs, not even the dripping of the kitchen tap that Effy had complained about previously. A muffled sound drifts down to her ears. Music, a TV maybe. She clambers up the staircase and follows the sound to Effy's room with heavy, stomped footsteps. She throws open the door, her mouth already running and about ready to give her mate an earful about good manners when people are calling. Instead, she's silenced by an incredibly sharp and irritated glare from Katie Fitch.

"Ugh, you heifer. Shut up, would you?"

Naomi's mouth hangs open, in mid-word but silent. The small TV is babbling quietly about some rap celebrity or something and Katie's sitting on Effy's bed, on top of the duvet, as Effy sleeps deeply beside her. What's worse, she's wearing one of Tony's polos. Why the hell Katie Fitch of all people is wearing Tony's clothes is a fucking mystery. Her mind reels with possibilities, most of them fairly awful except for the one that imagines Effy just tossing it to Katie. Why though? Naomi's not sure she wants the answer. And besides, when did Katie and Effy become such great bum-chums anyway? Admittedly, Naomi's been spending much less time than usual with Effy during the week, finding herself split between friends. (The younger Stonem wasn't that keen on hanging out with Michelle on anything more than an occasional basis. Her reasoning revolved around having to see the cow practically every morning as it was.)

"What the fuck?"

The twin rolls her eyes dramatically and shrugs. "Would you fucking keep your voice down, Naomi? For god's sake, I just got cranky Echidna here to take a nap."

Take a nap? Echidna? In what sodding alternate universe is Katie a babysitter for 20-year-old mentalcases? And what the fuck is an Echidna? "What? Katie, honestly... Echidna?"

There's just a very dispassionate stare that comes her way, obviously tired of reprimanding the level of Naomi's voice. Instead she just taps the huge book next to her on the bed. Naomi recognises it vaguely as that fucking myth dictionary from weeks ago when she'd been hungover as hell. She's not quite sure that this isn't some sort of weird acid flashback. Maybe Katie isn't really there quoting Greek myths to her. She's a figment of an over-active imagination and a very tired and stressed out mind. Neither of them are there. That may actually seem like the more plausible explanation. Except it's not.

"Mother of all monsters," Katie whispers conspiratorially and smirks. "I was bored, okay?" It's apparently all the explanation for her sudden interest in Greek classics that Naomi's going to receive. Instead, Katie switches quickly again back to the topic of her passed-out friend. "Have you seen this twat when she's well worked up? Proper nutjob, yeah?"

There are just so many questions. Too many. It's knackering even to think them, let alone ask them and have to listen to and understand the answers. And Naomi still can't quite get over the fact Katie's lounging about in Tony's shirt. Something she's only seen Michelle and Effy do. Hell, she's crashed over here more often than anyone else and she's never had to rummage through Tony's leftovers for something to wear. It's odd. It puts her head in a strange, unfamiliar place. Like, whirling about whether she should mention it to Chelle or not. If the bitch ever speaks to her again, that is.

Her mobile beeps again, alerting her to a new text and her heart leaps. Maybe she had telepathy. That's what you call it when you can make people do things with your mind, right? No matter. Again, she fishes around for her phone and expects Michelle's name to flash up. And again it's Emily instead.

A response.

Too bad it's not the one she had wanted.

_Please don't bother JJ about me anymore._

That's apparently what she wanted to talk about. It wasn't a reconciliation at all. More of a reprimand. A numb feeling settles into her fingers and she angrily stuffs the mobile back into her bag. She can't respond. Not right now. And especially not with Katie staring at her so intensely and her mouth just begging to ask Katie about it all. The words are there, sticking to her tongue and it's taking all her willpower not to interrogate the other twin. Naomi gets the impression that somehow she's interfering, interrupting something and that she's not actually welcome at all. If Effy was awake, it would be different but she's not so Naomi nods to Katie and leaves the house.


	4. laelaps & the teumessian fox

" _I've heard that it's possible to grow up - I've just never met anyone who's actually done it. We throw tantrums when things don't go our way, we whisper secrets with our best friends in the dark, we look for comfort where we can find it, and we hope - against all logic, against all experience. Like children, we never give up hope."_

– Meredith Grey, "Grey's Anatomy"

 

* * *

 

Effy doesn't even ring her the next day. It's not until late Saturday afternoon that her mobile finally vibrates with a call. There's some apparently _amazing_ drum and bass night at Blue Mountain which was being promoted by an old college mate of Tony's. It's going to be the rave of the year of course. Effy's already got comp tickets, queue jump, pocket full of powder, etc. _All the usual hype_ , Naomi notes with disdain. A night of pilled-up debauchery in Stokes Croft is hardly out of the ordinary or very likely to indeed be the "rave of the year". Sounds painfully normal actually. And thus, dreadfully dull. But of course, Naomi doesn't say no to Effy. There's no point. If she had even attempted it, she would have been faced with multiple irritating texts and calls, and if she's particularly unlucky, a spontaneous visit from her friend accompanied by virtual acquaintances she could barely place. Those were the worst. For some peculiar reason, if Naomi made it far enough in the refusal dance to warrant a house call, Gina would always answer first, and despite how wrecked Naomi normally ended up by the time she stumbled home in the early hours of dawn, her mother seemed to consider it a good idea to go out. Sometimes she really wished she could have a normal mother, just for once. Just once she'd like Gina to forget the whole "you'll never be younger or able to enjoy it as much as you do now" bollocks and tell Effy "No, my daughter's staying in with her mother."

So, of course, by the time midnight rolls around the blonde has done herself up appropriately for both the venue and the company and is standing in a corner of the rooftop terrace, sipping her Red Stripe and staring disinterestedly at the graffiti all around. She feels as if she's seen it a million times before and the million and first time is not going to suddenly make it any more exciting. Effy's disappeared again. Dissolved into the darkness. She's been off for sometime now, probably either selling or buying more drugs or shagging some manky bloke in the loos. Usually the later didn't take quite so long.

As it happens, during this boring-as-fuck wait, she catches a glimpse of familiar hair. It's really quite sad how she recognises it especially since it's just normal hair; not like Emily's unnaturally vivid red. It doesn't hurt however, that in truth, Michelle is accompanied by quite the ginger... stunner? Naomi's not sure what to make of the girl with Michelle with her Betty Page red hair and clothes that appear to have shrunk about 7 sizes in the wash, yet she's still managed to squeeze into them. Also, what a mouth. The girl seems to be going on at about the speed of light, mostly to Michelle but also to any lad that breezes by. There's something about Michelle's demeanour, and something about her wobble that are leading Naomi to believe her friend is already quite sauced. Wouldn't be the first time, by any means, but it's certainly not expected. She'd thought Michelle and Tony had been doing _fine_ and the only time Michelle appears to get wrecked is if something is up with her and her wanker boyfriend. But it's not like she'd know since they hadn't spoken since the park.

She's not sure how long she spends staring at the other girl across the crowd of munted young people, but it's long enough for Michelle's companion to wander off with some bloke and not long after Chelle throws her arms around a very, very fit blond boy. Buff indeed. They seem to know each other well, she reckons as Michelle seems relaxed and not playing up that irritating sexpot thing she constantly seems to try on most boys. Old friends, most likely. It's sometime during this creepy lurking that some absolutely monged out black girl slams into Naomi, accompanied by a strangely troll-like boy with beady little eyes. Even in this light, Naomi can see how huge the girl's pupils are and she apologises like mad for a minute, constantly brushing strands of purple hair from her face. Her nose ring glints under the patio lights as she grabs onto the fence for support. Naomi thinks that perhaps these two twats are speaking to her but it's all nonsense. The boy is constantly saying, "Live, live, live!" to get the girl's attention. It's probably some intoxicated hippie message inspired by whatever Class-As they've obviously replaced their blood with. They look vaguely familiar from some party or another, and she guesses it was that Roundview one a few weeks back. Upper sixths? Probably. Either way, they eventually push off when Naomi doesn't grace them with any sort of response beyond a sharply arched eyebrow. Not two metres later, she watches the pair knock into Karen Mclair and that gangster's daughter. _For fuck sake, it never ends_. Naomi turns away from the familiar faces, pulling her blonde hair into a curtain to shield her from recognition. It works and she breathes a sigh of relief. Ever since Freddie died, she can't bear to look at Karen. They had all tried to be friends following the tragedy but it was awkward and staring too long in Freddie's sister's eyes was uncomfortable. It was like she was a little bit dead as well. Even as Karen goes about her usual partying, there's still that lingering sadness.

She fucking hates Bristol. In a city this size, there shouldn't be such a propensity to run into familiar people so often. Taking a rather large gulp of her lager and deep drag of her cigarette from her other hand, she returns her attention to Michelle and her friend on the other side of the patio. (In honesty, she can't fucking keep her eyes _off_ Michelle right now.) They're chatting animatedly, and Sid and Anwar seem to have joined them at some point. It's only when she chances a general scope of the rest of the area that she becomes acutely aware of a shorter girl standing a tad too close to her, leaning against the railing. The redhead is staring at Michelle and the blond boy as well. She looks painfully out of place at this club in her buttoned up polo shirt and juvenile red barrettes in her hair. They clash with the orange, Naomi thinks. She'd be quite pretty otherwise perhaps.

The girl must somehow sense Naomi watching her and she turns to the blonde with a smirk. "Don't waste your time," she says bluntly in a thick Welsh accent and nods towards Michelle. "He's a flaming homosexual."

"I'm not-," Naomi starts but the redhead chuckles. It's dismissive and creepy.

"Ho-mo-sex-u-al," she says again, drawing out every syllable slowly, as if the blonde didn't understand her the first time. She cocks her head to the side, taking in the group of friends. "Besides, they're all tossers, you know." Her voice drifts out again, laced with hurt as she fiddles with the wrist strap of her pocket camera.

Naomi is now curious. "You know Michelle and Anwar then?"

The other girl glowers at her in the dim light, her brown eyes intense and focused. "Yes." But before Naomi has a chance to ask anymore probing questions of the stranger, she's moved away and merged back into the darkness of the club indoors. Naomi shakes her head with a laugh and tries to lessen the tingling feeling of being watched.

As she turns back to her previous subject of observation, her breath catches as she sees Michelle watching her as well. There's a panic there momentarily, for them both. Naomi can feel it inside her chest, in the pit of her stomach and the back of her throat. Familiar and terribly strong. And she can see it clearly on Michelle's face but it seems to pass quickly like a sudden summer storm because she whirls back, grabs the blond boy's hand and yanks him towards Naomi, pushing through the milling crowd with neither grace nor apology until they come face to face. Naomi quickly drops her fag and crushes it with a toe, breathing out deeply. The brunette drops her friend's hand and envelops Naomi in a slightly crushing embrace that lasts a bit too long as well. Naomi does her best not to breathe in the other girl's perfume too deeply. As she pulls back, she notes that on top of her perfume, indeed Michelle does smell like a distillery in Russia and when she moves away, she stumbles a bit and Naomi has to lay a hand on her arm to steady her. Instead of backing away completely, Michelle loops an arm around Naomi's neck, almost like a head lock and grins drunkenly at both the blondes.

"Maxxie, this is Naomi I was telling you about," she slurs slightly, tightening her hold just a bit more. It's almost uncomfortable. Maxxie nods a hello but before he can say anything, the brunette speaks again.

"Maxxie is one of my best mates," Michelle continues. "And now he's all famous in the West End doing shows and generally being the most successful of all of us, yeah?" There's something to the tone Michelle is using that is unfamiliar. It's not unfriendly exactly, in fact she seems quite sincere, but there's just a little hint of something else lurking under the surface. "But he's, like, gay _gay_ so I can't marry him."

Naomi's brow furrows in confusion as she watches their interaction. Whilst it's obvious that they're friends, she can't quite put her finger on what's a little off about them, or just Michelle today. Something shit must have happened with Tony recently or else Michelle's attitude doesn't make much sense. She's positively clingy right now and refusing to let Naomi wriggle away.

"So, Max..." It's a question. Or a half of one at least. Naomi's not quite sure what it means or what she's asking but there's a prickly feeling along the back of her neck that it's something to do with her. Maxxie nods pleasantly at Naomi, a toothy smile stretching across his lips.

"Well done, yeah, Chelle," he states, giving Naomi a once-over. "It's nice to meet you."

Michelle leans in exceptionally close to Naomi's ear and her hot, alcohol-laced breath slips over the younger girl's neck. "Max and I have been telling secrets," she whispers conspiratorially and suddenly Naomi flushes, hopefully not too noticeably under the dull patio lanterns. Secrets about? Them? Her? The park? Whatever it is, it can't possibly be good cos Maxxie is studying her both thoughtfully and affectionately. It's fucking weird. Naomi shifts and fidgets with the attention. There's very little time to dwell however because almost as soon as he's arrived, Maxxie is whisked away by an over-excited Anwar into the throbbing mass of people inside as an MC starts shouting all badman-like into the mic.

The two girls are left alone and despite the ruckus all around them as the crowd moves seemingly en masse towards the dancefloor as the headlining DJs start spinning hard jungle, it's too quiet with just the two of them. Michelle has yet to loosen her hold around Naomi's neck and is blearily staring off into space, literally. It's a cloudless night again –quite a record for Bristol actually with its incessantly rainy weather- and the stars are beginning to poke out of the navy backdrop. It's only the most powerful of them, the brightest ones, as all the ambient light pollution from the city drowns out any lesser stars. Naomi glances up too, hoping to catch a glimpse of Orion's belt but it's too early in the year. Plus, it only reminds her of JJ now, and thus Emily's text. In a bid to distract herself from that spectacular fuck-up, she peers over at Michelle.

"You all right?"

Apparently, Naomi's voice startles the other girl slightly as if she'd forgotten where she was or who she was with. Her arms drop away quickly and she takes a step back, putting space between them. A cold draft sneaks in her place. It only takes a minute or so for the break to occur. It starts with Michelle nodding agreeably, ensuring that everything is fine because well, everything is always just fine, isn't it? The nods start to slow with each passing second and like cracks spidering out of a poorly constructed dike, Michelle's smile begins to crumple in pieces. First the leftside corner turns down, her eyes start to crinkle, her forehead creases. It's like a slow motion trainwreck because as much as the older girl seems to be attempting to hold it in, hold back the damage, it's leaking out as her armour weakens and splinters. What was once a nod of affirmation has turned into a defiant headshake and accompanying it are the first spots of tears.

There's a blur of movement and once again, Naomi finds herself wrapped up in an altogether suffocating embrace, but this one is accompanied by saltwater tears soaking through to her shoulder. Michelle's fucking drunk and this is precisely the very thing Naomi loathes and goes to great lengths to avoid under normal circumstances, like when they first met incidentally. But this time, with it being a friend, the rules change and her arms hold onto a quivering, pathetic sort of girl and instead of contempt, she feels a little something approaching sympathy instead. Michelle's mumbling unrecognisable words into her neck that Naomi can't make out above the rapid-fire drum and bass and the general chatter surrounding them. She squeezes harder as compensation. And it's only after what seems like a drawn-out hour, Michelle calms down enough for Naomi to understand the words.

"Tony's sleeping with someone else. I just know..."

The information isn't surprising in the least, if she's honest. Tony is always playing around, dancing through life like a particularly care-free schoolyard bully, content that his god-given cleverness will get him out of whatever mess he finds himself in (and there is a lot of mess). The part that is surprising is that it's taken Michelle this long to actually admit to the knowledge. She'd heard enough about their past, about what made Michelle & Tony work – and also what broke them apart so many times. Maybe it was foolish, but Naomi can somewhat understand why Michelle thought that finally things would be different. When people grow up, they're supposed to generally become smarter, wiser, _better_ people. They don't normally revert back to the fucking assholes they were at 16. That would indeed be a horrible world. A bunch of 50-year-olds with 16-year-old brains and personalities; all the adults in the world reduced to their unbearable teenage counterparts. Horrid. Then again, she had learnt in GCSE Psychology that personality is generally static. Who you are as a 14-year-old is pretty much who you'll stay for the rest of your life, barring any sort of brain injury or traumatic experience. And even then, most of the time, those things are exactly that: injuries and experiences and eventually you heal again, thus transform back into the person you were beforehand. She hadn't been convinced that had actually been the truth, at least not until now. It seems like people really don't change all that much, fundamentally speaking. They learn things, adapt, manage to suppress the nasty bits better, but never truly _change_.

More than anything though, Naomi wanted to believe that given enough chances, even the most dysfunctional couples could make it work. Maybe that was just getting a little too personal.

Michelle's carrying on about how she suspects it again, but doesn't know who or why. The image of Katie lounging in Tony's t-shirt pops into Naomi's head and she wills it away, blaming it on an over-active imagination and no actual proof. She can't imagine Effy would stand for _that_ anyway. More likely, Effy would do Katie before she'd even let her brother near her mate. So, all in all, it was unlikely whichever way she approached the subject.

In the midst of the crying, the brunette pulls in a hard sob, catching it in her throat and swallowing hard. "That's why I like you, Naomi. I know you'd never fuck my boyfriend." There's something more about never worrying, never suspecting, finally having a mate who isn't after Tony Stonem's cock. In honesty, the blonde is a little offended that she's been reduced to a token lesbian friend and kept around it appears simply because she presents no competition. Again, she bites down hard on her tongue and resists the urge to tell Michelle about all those offers from Effy's stupid brother.

"That's why I _really_ like you," she tries again, making an attempt at being serious. Naomi grimaces. Her sigh must be felt by the other girl in spite of the hiccups there because Michelle pulls back, runs a hand sloppily through blonde hair and cracks a tiny, lop-sided smile. "Really."

"That's nice, Chelle," Naomi says as if talking to a toddler, distancing herself now that she has the opportunity but for every step away, the older girl mirrors it with a step closer of her own. The runner and the chaser. The fox and the hound.

"Naomi." Her name isn't a question. It's merely breathed out as if summoned from deep within her chest.

And it's going to happen again. Naomi knows; she can feel it without a doubt. Moreover, she's feeling incapable of stopping it. Her heart begins to jitter, beat that little bit faster as Michelle draws closer. And then, just as Naomi expects the touch of the more and more familiar lips against her own, there's another hiccup. It breaks the tension.

"Christ, I'm _drunk_ ," comes the teary slurred speech. Just like that, whatever that moment had been leading to dissolves into the air around them. Michelle rights herself a little more properly (though by no means soberly) and runs a finger under both eyes, wiping away escaped mascara and taking deep breaths. They're back to normal.

The respite lasts all too briefly because just as Michelle's managed to pull herself together into something vaguely resembling a functional human being, a recognisable figure comes into view, flanked by a smirking Effy on one side and skanky Katie on the other.

"Tony!"

He glances in the direction of his name, a flash of surprise on his face but it's replaced almost immediately with that smarmy little grin. And then Michelle sees Katie, glances at Naomi as if it's somehow her fault and glowers. "That's the slut!" she cries and attempts to charge towards the twin and Tony. It comes as a shock to more than just Michelle when Naomi reaches out and grapples the older girl, holding her back from her rageful mission. Katie stops dead in her tracks, glancing in pure confusion at the scene and this random chick trying to rip her throat out. For a moment, she just stares, then she pieces it together, raises an eyebrow in disbelief and snorts. Effy too is just watching as Michelle struggles helplessly against Naomi's bondage, intent only on causing serious bodily harm to Katie Fitch. Her eyes are positively burning with hatred.

The twin waves dismissively at Tony's girlfriend (which really only works to rile her up further) and floats away into the crowd with Effy. Tony, however, approaches them confidently.

"Hey, babe. Figured you'd be out here getting some air. Really looks like you could use it, yeah?"

"You wanker, Tony!"

Tony plays dumb. He's quite adept at that game. "Something the matter, Nips?"

And then the tears come again. Angry, helpless, drunken tears. Naomi loosens her hold knowing Tony will step in this time. He reaches out to brush a finger over his girlfriend's cheek but a hard slap keeps him at bay. "You know what's the matter, you asshole." She sucks in a stuttering breath. "I thought you'd changed. I thought we really had a chance this time."

Tony shrugs and Naomi notices that this time, he honestly does look genuinely confused about all the fuss. "I have."

Brown hair flicks against Naomi's face as Michelle shakes her head rapidly, whipping her hair around. "You haven't. You fucking... fucking..." She trails off, clenching her eyes shut, searching desperately for the words she wants. "You _promised_ , Tone." Her voice, once so full of fire, is weak and tired. Exhausted. "Promised _me_."

He glances to Naomi for explanation but she's no better an idea than he does. He seems to be tossing ideas around in his head, trying to figure out what to say, what to ask but is interrupted by Maxxie who has rushed back over, alerted by a little birdie by the name of Effy Stonem most likely. The blond boy slides an supportive arm around Michelle's waist and leads her away from Tony and Naomi. "Let's get you home, Chelle." She continues to cry as they fade away.

Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets and purses his lips for a moment as he watches his friends go back inside, and presumably to hail a taxi downstairs. "What's that all about?" He asks Naomi straight up as if she'd really tell him the answer. She just rolls her eyes at him instead.

"Maybe if you try thinking with your brain instead of your cock, you'd figure it out yourself." She shakes her head as well and proceeds back inside to the deafening chaos of the club.

 

* * *

 

Chaos is actually a relatively tame word for the state of the crowd indoors. For once, it may actually be the rave of the year cos the entire place is going off, literally bouncing with unbridled energy in the main room downstairs. Teenagers and 20-somethings are all packed tightly together, throwing themselves into each other to the music and the drum and bass is amping everything up to another level. Naomi can't say honestly that she's seen a night like this for a while now. She spots Anwar, Sid, Effy and Katie up near the DJ booth chatting (or shouting more like) with who Naomi can only assume is Kenneth, the MC and the one responsible for the whole lot of them even being here tonight. She sneaks around to an empty place against the wall. Next to her, there's that skinny ginger boy from before plastered against it. She can't quite tell if he's trying to climb the wall or hump it.

Squinting at her, he leans over and screams, "Can you _feel_ it? It's fucking brilliant!"

Unfortunately, Naomi can't feel it, whatever it is and the boy only works to remind her of Pandora. Too many drugs, not enough sense sometimes. As his metalhead friend comes by, he moves off to another section of the wall leaving Naomi with her own mind and thrumming bass.

It's not that odd that she wouldn't have seen the other girl coming. After all, it's rather dark inside and the flashing strobes and lasers don't paint a complete picture of her surroundings at all. There is so much movement that even a flash of familiar red hair could have been easily missed. But then, before Naomi has a chance to prepare herself, Emily materialises smack dab in front of her face. Jumping back, she only manages to thud against the wall. _Oh, the bass_. She _can_ feel it. Like the strong pulse of blood rushing through strangled veins.

"Emily?" It's all she manages to stutter above the music.

Moving closer, likely in order to keep their voices to a mere shout, Emily nods. "Hi, Naomi."

Naomi swallows hard, biting down on her lip, and shifting about like a cornered animal. She has no idea what is about to happen and her lack of preparedness only works to increase her anxiety. Emily tilts her head to the side and locks on with her deep brown eyes, black in this light. "I just wanted to say thanks."

 _Is she taking the piss? What's going on?_ Naomi's confusion must glide over her face because Emily continues, her expression unbelievingly gentle. "About before. Thanks for not letting your girlfriend beat the shit out of my sister. She looked well angry. Katie would probably thank you herself if she could but pride and all that."

 _What?_ "She's not my–."

"I mean, Katie's not shagging Effy's brother. She would have said, bragged more like. I think. "

"Michelle's _not_ my girlfriend." It's the only thing Naomi feels they need to talk about. She honestly couldn't give a toss about Katie's sexual partners. The statement causes Emily to pause and her face takes on a mixture of relief and confusion herself. "She's Tony's girlfriend."

Emily chuckles then. It's a sound Naomi hasn't heard for a fucking age and it makes warmth seep up through her toes and it tingles down her spine like a soft kiss behind the ear. God, she's almost like that Emily Naomi'd finally succumbed to at the lake. "I suppose that makes better sense then." The twin leans away slightly as if she's preparing to leave but Naomi knows Emily's clever, too clever sometimes and there's no way she wouldn't have sussed out that Michelle was Tony's girlfriend. This whole conversation seems to be an excuse to talk. And Naomi likes excuses. A lot.

The redhead shrugs again, a small smile on her lips. "Well, I should get–"

"Can I buy you a drink, Ems?"

Okay, so Effy is right this time. It _is_ the party of the year.

 

* * *

 

_We met it seems, such a short time ago. You looked at me, needing me so. Yet from your sadness, our happiness grew. Then I found out, I need you, too. I remember how we used to play. I recall those rainy days, the fires glowed, that kept us warm. And now I find, we're both alone. Goodbye may seem forever, farewell is like the end. But in my heart's a memory, and there you'll always be._

– Widow Tweed, Disney's "The Fox & The Hound"

 

* * *

 

For weeks, it works. Just like the old days. Better days. Exciting days. Comfortable days. Days she knew well and felt alive in. The perfect love. It's everything Naomi had hoped it would return to, and everything Emily seemed to have hoped for as well, and she's not disappointed. Not at first.

Change begins to seep in not long after. At first they're small things, like how since Katie and Emily now share a small flat in Cotham, Naomi's had to adjust to being the guest in the twins' abode and all the unfortunate consequences of Katie pounding on the otherside of the bathroom door in the mornings as she and Emily try to sneak a shower together. Also, Katie had rules about food. Mostly cos she's on some sort of celebrity diet that she really thinks will work this time, and so there's very little Naomi can snack on without asking Katie first. Or at least checking with Emily. Then there's Emily's bedroom which is barely larger than a closet and shares a very thin wall with her sister's equally-sized bedroom. While Naomi couldn't care less about what Katie has to endure, she doesn't appreciate male orgasmal groaning waking her (and Emily) at half 4 in the morning.

And when she suggests that maybe Emily come stay a while at Gina's, the offer is politely refused. As a guest, an escape, sure. But not on any sort of long-term basis. They're playing it carefully now. Never moving too fast. The hesitancy is new to their relationship... and it feels off. But maybe it's a good change after all. They've grown up. Learnt from past mistakes. And really, it never is a problem exactly cos Emily is still Emily, she's still so bursting with ideas and promise, and she's so warm and open. Her eyes still sparkle with excitement when Naomi surprises her with a sneaky kiss in the kitchen and her lips still curve ridiculously upwards when she takes Naomi's hand. So, really, Naomi doesn't actually mind too much things being a little awkward and slow if it makes Emily happy, and it obviously does.

But it's also a change having Emily in university during the days, and sometimes evenings. Naomi hadn't expected that at all, but as it turns out, last year, Goa, that whole experience had been merely a gap year and she's since started classes in October at UWE. The blonde had always thought she'd be the one to go to university over Emily, especially with their respective grades and ambitions. She hadn't wanted university. It had been Naomi who'd been set on that idea. It was precisely that divide, the incongruity that lit the fuse. It had been what set in motion the betrayal with Sophia last year. Now, it's strange not being in lessons with Emily and knowing she's there, in a lecture hall with a hundred other people, starting over and embracing a new life beyond the confines of Roundview. It's all very backwards. She remembers clearly the displeased look Emily had given her that first time Naomi had laughed at the redhead's insistence that she couldn't be late; that she had lecture to get to. For Naomi, the idea had been a joke, at least she had thought it was Emily being silly. But it wasn't. There's a definite feeling of being left out. She wants suddenly to do all that growing up stuff too.

The changes come faster and more noticeably the longer they keep at it. Maybe these things had always existed and Naomi's just noticing them for the first time, but she reckons not. She surely would have seen them the first time around. And really, some of them simply didn't exist back then, like her lazy days with Effy or Michelle whilst Emily's at school. She knows Emily's not entirely pleased with either friendship but she never actually mentions anything, never pushes the issue. Regardless, Naomi has culled the number of hours she sees either girl. After all, that's what happens in relationships, isn't it? Time becomes divided up and the more important things are given a bigger allotment. She senses Effy is particularly irritated by the brush off and Naomi fully expects to pop round one day to be handed another disturbing collage of dismembered body parts. (It's good then that Katie seems to be keeping Effy occupied more often now.) And Michelle? Well, she barely remembers the night at Blue Mountain, but she still obviously recalls the park incident and as long as Maxxie had still been in town, she hadn't minded the distance, the time-off from their friendship. But when he'd left back to London, she still needed a friend, especially as she and Tony are pretty much down to occasional fuck-buddies, or so it seems. The love is gone for good.

She remembers telling Michelle about her and Emily through a text message of all things. For some reason, she'd been terrified of saying it in person and having to watch the reaction. Michelle had responded with a bland, "That's great." and nothing more was said about it for quite a while. However, every so often, the older girl would drop hints, about how people never really change and nothing can be like it was before. She's obviously talking about herself and Tony, but Naomi guesses there's a double entendre in there too.

It doesn't matter though because Emily is perfect again. A little jaded, of course, but they're happy together. They joke and smile and laugh and shag and kiss. They're good again. Fuck cynicism about the past and future. Sometimes things can work out if you give them enough chances.

.

The change that throws Naomi off the most is when Effy doesn't bother to ring her on the weekend. After two weeks of successfully turning down invitations to parties, her best mate has apparently given up. There's a cold slice of loneliness and something close to regret that cuts through Naomi's chest when 9 PM rolls around on Saturday night and she realises that she's had no call. Katie's on her way out the door, dressed to pick up another vaginal infection if all goes well, and cuts her eyes at Naomi accusingly. The blonde isn't sure why. The flat door slams behind the twin without an explanation. Emily sighs beside her, turns the volume up on the TV two notches and curls into Naomi's side. They watch the film in near silence, then shag quickly before drifting off to sleep. She can't help the nagging feeling that Emily's mind is elsewhere, and really hers isn't quite right either.

 

The morning after, she stumbles sleepily to the small kitchen only to find Katie already alert and making toast. The twin hasn't changed out of her clothes from the previous night and her make-up is smudged and worn off in places. She obviously hasn't even been to bed yet. Naomi can only imagine the mood she's in.

But Katie remains eerily quiet as she goes about buttering her toast and pouring a steaming mug of Lady Grey for herself. In fact, she appears to be going out of her way not to acknowledge Naomi at all. The blonde putters around the kitchen aimlessly as she waits for Katie to leave the toaster and kettle alone. Finally the younger girl picks up her plate of toast and steps towards the sitting room. But she pauses in the doorway, sighs, places her mug down again and fishes something from her jeans pocket. Thrusting her hand out, she waves it around for Naomi to take it from her.

"She wanted you to have this," Katie says, her voice flat and tired. Without waiting for a response, she grabs her tea and saunters away.

Naomi unfolds the piece of notepaper.

 _pg. 174,_ is all it says.

 

* * *

 

It takes 4 days for Naomi to figure out that she has to go round to Effy's. Texts hadn't been returned. E-mails ignored. Phonecalls left to ring through to a full voicemail, over and over. So much for being best mates.

The walk takes a little over an hour from Emily's place down to Effy's and the time alone (something that had been in short-supply lately) had given Naomi far too much time to contemplate the current state of her life. Worse, she couldn't seem to concentrate on just one thing. Everytime she got to thinking about Emily, something would remind her of Michelle. Then that would remind her of some other random thing like constellations or JJ or Effy or Tony, all of whom would in turn, switch her focus to school or work or back to Emily again. It became circles upon circles of tangled thoughts and by the time she turned the corner at Elvaston, nothing had been made any clearer whatsoever. Maybe that's really why Effy's mad: too much time with her own thoughts. It would certainly drive any normal person to the brink of insanity, she reckons. And that's why the parties and the drugs helped. They created noise. They created distractions.

Coming up to the red door, she doesn't even bother to knock or ring the bell. If Effy's attitude towards any other sort of attempted contact was indicative of a pattern, likely she wouldn't even answer the door anyway. First she tries the knob, locked. So she lets herself in with the spare key again.

"Eff?" she calls into the quiet house. There's no response from the blank walls. Sneaking upstairs, all the bedrooms are empty, with Effy's bed immaculately made and untouched, as if no one's slept in it for ages. Pato slumps against the pillows, keeping watch over the sparsity. There aren't even any of the usual scraps of paper scattered around the carpet that signalled that she'd been working on her art. The only noticeable difference is that there's a discarded box collecting dust on the floor that had once held a spiffy new dSLR camera. High-end by the looks of it. Effy's got herself a new hobby then.

It's uncomfortable snooping around her mate's room like this so she meanders back downstairs and out towards the back garden, hearing voices wafting in through a cracked kitchen window. She hesitantly pushes open the door and steps into the sunshine and unkempt overgrowth that embodies the Stonems' wild garden. In the midst of the weeds, saplings and shrubs, there are two camp chairs unfolded and in one sits Effy, with her new toy in hand. And in the other, Michelle is leaning back, eyes closed under her sunglasses and soaking in the sun. Everywhere Naomi goes, Michelle seems show up. Inescapable. Aggravating. But she too pays the intruder no mind. An ashtray full to the brim of cigarette butts sits between them, as well as a half-empty bottle of vodka.

Without acknowledging her presence, the skinny brunette spins in her seat and there's a distinctly mechanical click as the shutter snaps on her new camera. Naomi glares at her friend menacingly for a moment, incredibly displeased to have become a reluctant model.

"Hi, Naomi," Effy drawls as if she thinks something is funny about the situation. At the sound, Michelle draws her sunglasses onto her forehead and cranes her neck to peer at the visitor. Interestingly, she says nothing and only offers a small smile before pulling her shades back down and returning to her sun worship. "You got the note?"

Naomi groans and steps deeper into the garden. "Of course I did. I've texted you a hundred times about it." She's really not in the mood for Effy's stupid games and comes up to stand over the thin girl, attempting somehow to be intimidating. As if that has ever worked on a Stonem before. She's met with a shrug and the echo of another click of the camera. "Stop it, Eff."

Effy gazes up, nonplussed, and her blue eyes seemingly wider than normal. It's her best clueless, innocent look but that sad fact is that like a clear, blue ocean, Effy's eyes are almost transparent at times. She can't quite make out what precisely is going on in her head (no one can), but she can practically see the wheels and gears spinning themselves into a constant frenzy. It's a bit of a contradiction maybe that they appear so clear yet remain so defiantly impenetrable. Like a reflection in a mirror, or glassy lake. Moreover, models supposedly had that 'smiling with their eyes' thing going on; Effy Stonem had 'arrogantly smirking with her eyes' happening instead. _Bitch._

Reaching under her canvas chair, the brunette pulls out a small stack of photos printed from a home printer and holds them up to Naomi who takes them cautiously. "What are these?"

"Photographs."

Naomi sighs. "Thanks." Even just a single word drips with excessive sarcasm.

Effy pauses, motions for her friend to flip through them then laughs. "Tony bought me a camera. So the rest of the world can see it as I do, or some bollocks." The blonde knows better. Effy's trying to play it off as if it's a silly idea, the same as she does with her meds or therapy or art or anything of substance she creates. But the message must have sunk in cos the photos are surprisingly well-composed and the subject matter the exact representation of what she'd expect the inside of Effy's mind to look like. Mostly black and white: rubbish bins, tangled bramble patches, decrepit sheds, industrial complexes, council estates, half-rotten children's toys, roadkill, dead trees, long empty expanses of motorway. There's colour too: graffiti, homeless men, stormy skies, the dirty harbour, rusted out lorries, half-sunken barges, abandoned heroin needles. It all paints a depressing picture of a dreadful, post-apocalyptic England. But then, there's more. There are candid portraits of familiar faces: Tony asleep, small and fragile-looking in his bed, a fatigued Anthea reading the morning paper with a cigarette burnt down to the filter dangling forgotten between her fingers, random partygoers in varying states of ecstasy and inhibition, blasts of lasers, smiling faces, artificially or ephemerally friendly faces – all within the confines of dark clubs. And then there's a gravestone with a painfully familiar name, a police wagon on its was to a jail, an airplane flying low, the woods, Tony again concentrating intensely on something in a book, Michelle hunched on the sofa in their living room, alone, with a vodka bottle in hand. And Katie, in black and white, startlingly expressive, halfway between anguish and anger wearing the same outfit she'd had on this morning and screaming at someone out of frame. It's a beautiful shot, although Katie herself likely would abhor being caught at such a time. They're _all_ beautiful actually, even in their abandon, decay and misuse. And then a breathtaking landscape of sunrise from what looks to be Ashton Court. It's odd to feel so much of Effy's thoughts so intensely and to have them displayed in such striking translations. They may seem like ordinary photos, many of which a 1000 other hipsters or wannabes could have taken just the same, packed a decent portfolio full of these clichés, but putting them together with the girl in front of her somehow feels incredibly invasive, like she's breached some unspoken barrier. On their own, they're lovely and disturbing, but in connection with Effy, they're powerful and obtrusive. Something she's not meant to see; something Effy hadn't really meant to share.

"Wow, these are..."

"Don't." She snatches them back, tossing them carelessly under her seat as if suddenly they're just meaningless pieces of paper. "It's all Tony's idea anyway."

And like that, clues to Effy's psyche are stowed away like hidden treasures. It draws Naomi's stare once again to the vodka bottle between the two girls; she prods at it with her toe.

Michelle glances over lazily and waves a hand in the air. "You can have some, if you want," she says sounding uncharacteristically disinterested. "Out of fags though."

 _What is this?_ Why is Effy lounging around with Michelle of all people, drinking at noon on a Monday? If Naomi's honest with herself (and she _really_ doesn't like to be if she can help it) the idea is sparking hints of jealousy in her chest, something toxic is bubbling out of the half-digested cereal she'd had for breakfast before coming over here. _Was the milk off?_ Indigestion, perhaps. But likely more psychological in origin. Idly passing the daylight hours was supposed to be _her_ thing, wasn't it? With _both_ of them. But they weren't supposed to do it with each other and just leave her out of it. She could expect this sort of thing from Effy but it's Michelle's attitude that is twisting that knife between her ribs.

"Is Emily busy then?"

_Oh._

Yeah. Michelle certainly does not sound pleased. She can't hide her feelings nearly as well as the emotional-Houdini in the other chair. It's sort of bitter maybe but flimsily covered by a feigned indifference. Naomi merely mumbles _yeah_ and kicks at the dirt around the ashtray absently. It's terribly confusing how at times Naomi can't seem to tell the truth at all, and other times can't seem to lie. Surely if you're good at one or the other, you should be skilled enough to control it. It strikes her that maybe she's not actually talented, she's just shit at both things. How unfortunate. Although it sure would explain a lot.

"Page 174," Effy drones and Naomi's ears perk up at the mention. Finally, an answer.

"Yeah, what's that even mean?"

Effy nods towards the house again. "It's in there."

Just as Naomi turns to seek out whatever riddle Effy's devised for her this time, Tony appears in the doorway. He leans casually against the frame and smiles at the girls. "Ready to go, Nips?" _Oh. So they haven't broken up_. The romance isn't quite dead yet. He doesn't wait for an answer; he just turns and fades back into the dimness of the indoors.

Michelle rises slowly, almost reluctantly really, and moves towards the house herself, brushing a little too close to Naomi in the process. She pauses as if she has something to say, but her eyes, shielded by the dark plastic of her sunglasses, give Naomi no hint as to what it is. Instead, she just sighs and continues her trek to meet Tony. It was a close call. Naomi realises that for some odd reason, she'd felt the urge to apologise but she has no idea for what or why on earth she should. Shaking her head, she listens for quiet voices as they move into the front of the house, and then the slam of the door. They're gone. For now. Believing the coast to be clear, the blonde glances back at her mate one more time. Effy's not paying any attention.

On the kitchen table is a book. It's the same bloody book that Effy had shown to her before, and the same one that Katie had been perusing when Naomi had found them on Effy's bed. It's dog-eared on what she presumes in the page in question. Flipping it open impatiently, she notes that it is page 174. There's a small illustration of a fox and a hound. Immediately she thinks of JJ. Paranoia trickles through her mind, wondering if maybe just everyone else was in on some cosmic joke and she's the butt of it. There's no way JJ and Effy would devise some sort of maniacal scheme, is there? No. She calms herself with the assertion that while Effy was an enigma at times, she certainly would have let it slip had she been chatting with JJ. Sober Effy was not the same creature as drugged-up Effy, and really, it was much easier to get the truth out of her if she'd dabbled in any kind of enactogen during the night. Lovely illicit substances. Who needs that wonky Stun shit when decent MDMA will do just as well?

It doesn't take much to see why Effy's marked this page as a whole passage of text is high-lighted in bright yellow.

 **"LAELAPS** (Λαῖλαψ) , " _hurricane-dog_ " (Κυον Λαιλαψ) or "storm-wind" was a mythological dog who never failed to catch what he was hunting. In one version of Laelaps' origin, he was a gift from Zeus to Europa of Krete. The hound was passed down to King Minos. Minos had been cursed by his wife; he ejaculated scorpions and spiders that would devour the genitals of those he slept with. Because of this, he called Prokris of Athens to his aid. When she cured him he gave her Laelaps and a javelin that never missed its target. Prokris's husband, Kephalos of Athens, decided to use the hound to hunt the **TEUMESSIAN FOX** that was laying waste to the countryside around Thebes and could never be caught. This was a paradox: _a dog who always caught his prey and a fox that could never be caught_. Zeus, pondering the dilemma of the uncatchable fox being chased by an inescapable hound, as Istrus says, turned the pair to stone, or else placed them in the heavens as the Constellations _Canis Major_ (Laelaps) and _Canis Minor_ (Teumessian Fox). In so doing he froze their contest or set it to play out for eternity in the heavens.

Alternately, in some stories the dog overtook the fox, but Zeus changed both animals into a stone, which was shown in the neighbourhood of Thebes."

_What the fuck, Effy?_

Naomi slaps the book closed and marches purposefully towards the back garden again. She's going to demand an explanation. And moreover, demand to know if Effy's spoken with Emily or JJ. The coincidence is too convenient.

The walled-in garden is empty.

It's not the first time Naomi seriously wonders if Effy is only a figment of her imagination.

 

* * *

 

It's only a few blocks and she's home again, safe to dwell on the meaning alone in her room without interference from anyone. Effy would have been nice to talk to since the point of the story still doesn't quite fit with anything she herself can come up with. A hint would have been nice. But instead she's left to consider it all for herself. Ugh.

Who is the fox and who is the hound? And the hunter who controls it all? Effy. But who is her hound? Naomi thinks maybe she's the hound but that doesn't work. She's not chasing anything, although she had chased Emily, right? Well, not really. So, is Emily the hound? That doesn't seem right either, but it would make Naomi the fox. There's a lot to be said about foxes: they're cunning, clever, quick – and she certainly does not consider herself any of those things. However, they do spend their lives on the run... She glances up at a small plush fox on a bookcase that she had received from the League Against Cruel Sports for helping with an anti-foxhunt campaign ages ago in Year 11, when she was still idealistic, loud-mouthed and determined to fight for her future. Back when she had a life outside of Emily Fitch. She thinks maybe people don't really know about foxes much at all.

While granted with an instinctive sort of foresight, they aren't truly as clever as they're made out to be in literature. They are diggers, buryers, hiders. Keeping watch on their secrets. In the good months, as few people seem to realise, foxes don't eat all the prey they manage to catch. An unlucky songbird may be covered with dirt in a hole in the ground as the fox hides away his snack for the longer, harder winter months. Like chipmunks and squirrels more than fearsome predators of livestock, he tucks away quite a few contingencies. Because even more like squirrels, he often forgets where he's hidden his emergency rations. His secrets become lost even to himself. So he buries more and more out of necessity. If he's lucky, he'll find some again but there's also the chance he'll forget, or when he does find a treasure, it's rotten from neglect. But in the worst case, and the most common one, something else has discovered his secret and uncovered it. It's no longer his alone.

And really, they may be fast runners, but not as swift as people think. Horse and hound can keep up until eventually the fox tires. A fox can't run forever. He'll try; his life depends on it. Zig-zagging through forests and tunnels, drainage pipes and culverts, up and over dales, in and out of ditches, he will try. He'll run out of fear, out of self-preservation and the anxiety will mount, but truly panicking only as he finds each of his holes, his rare safe-havens, blocked up by the hunters in prior anticipation of his escape. He will continue to run. There's a sort of gruesome inevitability to the chase most times, and the ending that makes the fox wonder what the point of running was in the first place perhaps. If he isn't torn apart by dogs, shot to death or collapsing from the stress-induced haemorrhaging, he has escaped only momentarily. A fox then may be free, but so exhausted that he cannot carry on. Run to death.

Naomi wonders if there's a subtle precautionary tale here.

Still, she can't accept the idea that one should accept the seemingly inevitable without a fight. There may be a large percentage of her 16-year-old self that has been lost to the formative and tragic years beyond, but she will not settle for the ridiculous notion of fate. She knows running, she knows the fight. Passivity had not been in her vocabulary until that final year of college. She fought tooth and nail against social injustices, ignorant people and loving red-haired Emily Fitch. She'd only truly conceded to one of those. The others just fell out of her sight in the blinding glare of teenage love. And now, she has accepted that part just as a fox likely must recognise the futility of the chase when it nears its end. There's still a disturbing rumble deep down when she's left along for too long with her thoughts. It echoes with the same kind of resistance that had seemed so familiar when she was younger, the inability to swallow a particularly hard truth. It sounds as if her heart hasn't ceased running yet, as if the constant pitter-patter of its beats are actually desperately fleeing footsteps against the damp earth of a dark and lonely forest.

Memories of the seemingly infamous Park Incident float to the forefront of her mind unannounced and startlingly crisp against the fog of foxes, hounds and Greek myths. It's Michelle's voice.

_Once you're in it, no matter who it's with, you can't get out of love._


	5. forbidden fruit & the postlapsarian era

All the uncertainty and introspection fades almost as quickly as it had begun and within a week, Naomi has virtually forgotten the visit to Effy's, and her cryptic dense hidden messages. It's easy when Emily is around, and especially when she's lying on her bed, topless on her stomach flipping idly through an unnecessarily large textbook. Naomi grins and pushes down the rumble that was starting to irritate her more and more often these days. Draped in a very loose-fitting t-shirt, she's not much more clothed than her girlfriend. Together they possibly could make a single outfit. Almost. Cos, well, Emily's only got one sock on and the other is nowhere to be seen. She sighs loudly, running a finger across a glossy and colourful graph on the page and Naomi's not sure what to make of it.

She considers it amongst Emily's "New Sounds". There previously were a whole arsenal of sighs, breaths, groans, moans and chuckles that Naomi could translate without much difficulty. That knowledge had come out of experience but somewhere along the line, a transformation took place. Perhaps it was in college, but definitely also afterwards. Now only about half of Emily's sounds are familiar and the remainder are foreign and lack a recognisable meaning. _So far_ , Naomi reminds herself. So far. She'll eventually learn these too. It's just difficult at times like these cos she's never exactly been the most gifted of conversationalists and lately when she suggests or asks a question after one of these New Sounds, she's met with awkward silences or confused gazes. She's no idea what to say any longer, unsure if Emily is frustrated, tired, bored, amused, or any host of other emotions. She usually guesses wrong now. It makes her feel like there's a missing piece somewhere, a loose connection between them.

So instead she's resorted to waiting for Emily to say something to belay her real feelings. It's a time-consuming pastime but far more risk-adverse. She tiptoes with caution around sharp edges now.

The twin sighs again with a slightly different cadence than previously and slides the book away from her, turning to stare up at her blonde girlfriend instead. "We should go out this weekend. Like properly."

Naomi's taken aback. "A date?" They'd never really dated, not properly. Like, _ever_ and it seems odd to start now but it's not something she's not totally opposed to either. Emily stares blankly at her as if the suggestion doesn't quite compute. So Naomi tries again, "To the lake or something?" It's worth a shot. They haven't been back there since their return from Goa and at that time it was late-February and horribly wet and cold. Nothing like it had been in the past. Nothing seemed to be anymore.

Emily shakes her head and smirks. "No, no. Like with everyone else. A party." She lowers herself against the pillow and groans, burying her face and mumbling. "I miss going out."

It hurts.

More than it should maybe.

The respite from that scene couldn't have come at a better time, as Naomi had grown terribly weary of it all. These weeks away from the groaning bass music, dark crowded rooms of strangers and illicit drugs had been something of a breath of fresh air. They had replaced cocaine with sex, and dancing with lounging about in their jim-jams and watching films. She didn't mind the domesticity too much, and ignoring the pang of resentment she sometimes feels from Effy's lack of interference these days, it had been a much needed break. Now Emily wants a break from the break. _Emily_ of all people. A year ago this would have been everything she dreamt of. _Fuck change_.

"All right," Naomi eventually sighs. She feels a finger trailing down the inside of her arm, thinks of ants, and shudders. The touch vanishes.

"Great, cos I've got this friend from Soc Foundations who's throwing a full-on massive at his on Saturday and loads of people from uni..."

Naomi tunes the rest of details out and lets Emily continue cos it's obviously something she's very excited about. Not really fair to rain on that parade this soon. Nodding or humming every so often, she wonders about Goa and how well they worked there and when they became such vastly different people. Maybe they should move to Goa permanently, play pretend forever.

 

* * *

 _Darlin', forever is a long long time. And time has a way of changin' things._  
– Big Mama, Disney's "The Fox and the Hound"

 

* * *

 

The party is shit.

Of course it is. Why would it be any different? Because it's Bishopston instead of Redcliffe? Because it's being put on by a fresher instead of some college twat left home alone for the weekend? It's the same fucking awful dubstep coming from the speakers and the same cheap lager stowed in the fridge. It's the same morons throwing themselves unabashedly at each other in the same sadistic and often times embarrassing type of modern mating ritual. It's the same drugs, same spirits, same hopelessness and apathy. She spots Tony's mates every so often. And then there's Emily's own friends from uni who she seems to be quite swept up with at the moment, giggling and generally carrying on like she's in sodding Disneyland without a care in the world. What happened to the days when they were instinctively connected, catching each other's eye in crowds, across distance, unable to look away? There's the other ones too: the uni sorts from U Bristol, Bath Spa and UWE; the layabouts and those who work dead-end jobs; and of course, the young ones: Roundview, Filton, Colston's, ugh, all the posh school wankers and whores. Christ, she hates these kinds of house parties.

After necking a few cans of lager she sneakily nicked from an admittedly rather attractive boy's stash, that he and his mate "Spence" seemed to be watching guard over (not very well obviously), Naomi feels slightly better. Not much, but a little bit. Especially when she watches the boy check Emily out, up and down, smirking to himself in the process and running his tongue along his bottom lip. It's times like this she wishes Cook hadn't "done the right thing, yeah, Naomikins" and turned himself in after the mess with Effy's doctor. She could use a buddy, plain and simple, no strings attached, no serious thinking involved. But he's not and that's the unchangeable reality. He won't be around for a very long time. Fuck, she misses him terribly and the enormity of the emotion seems to knock her sideways suddenly. She'd thought her heart was finally finished breaking.

Leaving Emily to catch up with her friends, the blonde steps out into the garden. It's quieter but not empty. A few partygoers are wandering around, sitting on the grass and relaxing. Against the wall is that metalhead kid she sees at half of these things. One leg props a huge boot against the stucco as he leans casually and draws on a cigarette. He appears harmless enough and she shuffles near and fishes her own smoke from a battered pack. He barely gives her a glance before holding out a lighter without even looking at her. She takes it, lights up and hands it back.

"Thanks," she mutters.

He shrugs and his shoulders fall like his leather jacket actually weighs a tonne. "Don't mention it."

And she doesn't. They don't say anything cos this is supposedly a safe haven, a chill out spot where all the fake niceness of the inside doesn't need to exist. People can sulk and smoke and have raging internal debates in peace. It doesn't stop her from peering over at him every so often. He seems familiar, and not just because of his face and generally sullen demeanour.

Halfway through her cigarette there's a whirlwind of activity and Naomi immediately recognises that little posh girl who looks like she's possibly forgotten which generation she belongs to. She's classy, refined even despite her bounding energy and bright, cheery smile. The complete opposite of him. She breezily throws her arms around his neck, stands on tip-toe, planting deliberately wet kisses against his cheek as he pretends to hate the attention.

"Trying to smoke here," he grumbles half-heartedly, pushing away.

She pulls back and pouts theatrically, hands on her hips like a disapproving school-teacher. "How many times have I said those horrible little sticks are bad for you, Richard?" She grins though dissipating any seriousness she'd had on her side. He shrugs again, rolling his eyes in an impressive way Naomi hasn't seen since catching her own reflection in a shop window once. Taking a deliberate step closer, she wrinkles her nose at him playfully. "Fine. Be that way." After a pause she continues even more. "Mini and the girls want a picture with all of us to commemorate the start of term."

"I don't do those gay group photos, Grace."

"Liar, liar pants on fire!" she sing-songs at him, giggling as she finishes. "Now come along, please, Rich. For me?"

The nod as he finally concedes to her wishes is almost undetectable and his eye roll this time is merely bashful. There's a crack of a smile on his face. "I guess."

It's all she needs as she grins in delight and skips back into the fray. Naomi takes a drag and stares at the boy who is nearly finished his own smoke. She can't help it. She has to break the unspoken rule of the quiet smoking wall.

"Your girlfriend?" The older girl is still a little shaken that two such completely different people can work together in such a frankly adorable way. It's like everything shouldn't mesh but somehow it is totally complimentary. Opposite charges; magnetic plus and minus. She quickly reminds herself that they're people and worn-out metaphors about magnets are stupid... but her mum's words echo in her memory: _The people who make us happy are never the people we expect._

He side-eyes Naomi quickly and shrugs for the hundredth time in so many minutes. "Yeah."

"She's so... different from you." Not the most diplomatic approach and she can sense his irritation at the statement. In honesty, if she were him, she'd be pretty pissed off about some random stranger commenting on her relationship too.

"Yeah. And?" His eyes narrow at her as if expecting some disparaging commentary.

It's Naomi's turn to shrug. "Nothing," she mumbles and studies the crumbling ash on the end of her fag. If the message wasn't clear enough, he pulls up his headphones from around his neck and covers his ears. She can hear the tinny sound of music being played far too loud even with all the other noise around them. One last pull on his cigarette and he tosses it to the pavement, loping off without a second glance in her direction.

There's something about the incident that bothers Naomi, like in the pit of her stomach. It hadn't been his attitude cos Naomi's had her share of people like that. She considers those types more of kindred spirits rather than obstinate and irritating. Something about the way the two kids work. They just... coexist in this perfect kind of reciprocity. Human nature (especially that of the under-25 world) would define them as foils, perhaps even enemies. But instead, it's like the lamb dancing fearlessly with the lion. She drops her own cigarette on the ground and slips back into the party and searches for Emily who seems to have vanished somewhere in the throngs of idiots.

 

 _Water._ Water would be good.

She navigates down a short corridor and finds the bathroom empty. Closing the door softly behind herself, she drinks quickly from the tap, allowing the cold water to flush her system with relief. Looking up, her reflection appears pallid and blue in the light of the stranger's bathroom mirror. Sweeping a finger under eyes, she attempts to fix up some smudged mascara come loose by the incessant habit of running her hands tiredly over her face. It takes a lot less time than she would have liked to touch up her eyes and the knowledge that she can't stay here in her quiet den and put off getting back to mixing with drunk strangers momentarily angers her. She shouldn't have to do this any longer. Wasn't the point of these things to pull? To stumble home (or elsewhere) completely smashed at the end of the night, get sloppily shagged, maybe get ill and then walk home full of shame and surrounded by the tasty aroma stale cigarette smoke and liquor the next morning? Naomi wants none of that. She has a girl. She has a home. And she's not nearly drunk enough. Tipsy, maybe. But not drunk enough for the pantomime.

The tired face in the mirror stares back impassively. It has no mind of its own, no worries. She wishes she could swap places. Bracing her hands on the sides of the sink basin, she breathes out a deep sigh and peers down the black drain.

Her whole body seems to fly back against the wall, causing the cheap plastic towel rod to break and fall to the ground, as the door flies open. Her solitude is shattered against her will.

"The fuck!" she yells as what feels like a heart-attack begins to dissipate. The visitor looks up then, as if she hadn't expected anyone else to be in the room.

"Sorry." And then there's the pause as recognition switches on. "Christ, sorry, Naomi."

"Fuck's sake, Chelle." Naomi pulls herself off the wall, glancing down at the broken rod and heap of dirty handtowels and tries to ignore the idea that once again, this girl has randomly shown up where she is. Inescapable. Michelle has carelessly propped her Mulberry bag up on the wet countertop and is digging through its endless depths for make-up presumably. She pulls out a tube of mascara and leans over closer to the mirror, as if this situation isn't even remotely odd. Like they're just girlie mates having a little chin wag in the toilets, just like any other perfectly normal girl friends. Specifically the kind of stuck-up bitches that Naomi detests and the kind that give her stink-eye when she enters the bathroom at a club and awkwardly interrupts their preening and squawking as she darts around them to the toilet.

Her lashes darken with each sweep. "Didn't think you'd be here," she says casually between strokes.

Naomi looks at her with mild disbelief. "In the loo?"

Michelle chuckles and twists the cap back on her mascara, batting her eyelashes at her reflection. "No, at this party." She pauses and looks over with an unreadable expression. "You haven't been around much at all lately."

The blonde hums non-committally and offers only a lazy shrug of her shoulders as she watches Michelle pull out a stick of lip-gloss from her black hole of a purse, studies it briefly and finally pulls it open. A very distinct scent of candy apple wafts towards her nostrils as Michelle presses on the gloss. _Entrancing_ is probably not the right word for the action, Naomi muses to herself, cos she definitely should not be _entranced_ by anyone other than her girlfriend. But there's something about apples, or maybe the way Michelle is sliding the lip-gloss around her lips that prevents Naomi from looking away. How many girls watch their friends do this all the time? And none of them get very mildly turned on by the action, she reckons. Michelle smacks her lips together a few times, leans into her reflection again and dabs at errant bits of candy apple goo.

What was that bollocks her mum said about apples and snakes? Something about naked people running all willy-nilly around the woods and some talking animals, then eating fruit that made them evil and some angry ghost yelling at them? Sounds like some acid-trippy Harry Potter shit to Naomi honestly, and all she can recall for sure with her mind this foggy is her mum ranting about figs instead of apples and the damnable errors of Western religious history.

Satisfied with her touch-up, Michelle smiles at herself in the mirror. Reaching down, she pulls on her bra and top, nonchalantly adjusting her tits so they are even more noticeable. "It's nice to see you out is all," she says to her reflection before turning to the younger girl. She grins at Naomi like one of those cartoon lions in films, her green eyes narrowing as they focus on their prey. "Can't hide away forever."

Naomi's nostrils flare as the aroma of apples hits again; a burgeoning hunger swells, indifferent to her fading resistance. She meets the irresistible force head on.

It's bad, this kissing business. It's very, very bad. Horribly bad, in fact. Because somewhere on the other side of what is a moderately thin wooden door, her girlfriend is laughing with her friends, innocent and unaware of any flurry of recurrent betrayal. Somewhere on the other side of that same door, a lanky, magnetic sort of blue-eyed devil is lying in wait for Michelle too. But at the moment, the door is enough assurance of safety, or of secrecy. She sees that sullen Rich bloke with his hilariously mismatched girlfriend and two different worlds colliding into one. She wishes she could use that as justification for her actions but she's well aware that there isn't an excuse in the universe that could make this anything but _bad._

The only good news is that she's not entirely sure if she completely instigated it. She reckons that Michelle played her part too because Naomi finds herself stumbling backwards, crashing into the mess she'd created earlier as she greedily swallows candy apple lip-gloss. But still, it's Naomi whose hands stray beyond the boundaries of a simple kiss first sliding from their grasp in now-tangled chestnut hair, and down further.

She's never touched Michelle in this intimate way and it's ludicrous that - now when she's actually in a relationship - she deems it the ideal time to take this step. Her desperate fingers graze over the soft curves of perfect breasts before her palms take notice and press harder, her hands full and moving and Michelle's small moan reverberating against her lips. In response, warm fingers slide up and under her own top, racing around her waist and trailing up the indent of her lower spine. The resulting goose-pimples must be terribly noticeable and the shudder only amplifies the feeling.

This is nothing like the park. It's not gentle, it's not lazy, it's not even remotely innocent; it's pushy and frenzied More obviously desperate than the first time they kissed, less friendly than the last. But at least it's equally as thoughtless. Not premeditated. The bracket of the broken towel rack digs into her back but she's too preoccupied with lips and hands and breasts to pay much mind to how she'll have to explain away that angry purple bruise to Emily. Truthfully, the idea of Emily in any sense never manages to break through the haze of lust, especially not when Michelle writhes against Naomi, moans quietly and strangled in her ear, as the blonde fumbles with the button on insanely tight jeans.

The rush is exhilarating really, like being let out out of a cage that had been all too confining and unnatural and now running free again. It's like bounding over hills at full speed in a tornado, wind whipping and streaming over her body. Caught up in a tiny hurricane. (A little too much like a certain word beginning with "L".) She doesn't really think too hard about much in these energized moments and instead allows the momentum to carry them wherever it may go. Michelle's lips glide over exposed skin as if she knows exactly what to do, though really, if Effy is to be trusted, that's not very surprising as the older has a bit of a reputation of being a slag, to put it bluntly. And if she's seeing Tony Stonem, all's fair in love and war, yeah? Naomi manages to push denim away just as a hot hand reaches up under her bra and she bites down on her bottom lip, huffing out a pant through a clenched jaw.

It falls apart not longer after Naomi slips nimble fingers into delicious wetness. Michelle's a screamer probably cos she's definitely a moaner. Naomi knows they're good sounds, of course, she's not retarded but they're completely novel. She can tell Michelle wants to get off as badly as she does. It's bloody well undeniable at this point and Naomi feels the desire coursing through every fucking capillary now, her body pulsing in complimentary need. But when the moment comes and Naomi shifts back just a bit to look the other girl in the face, she doesn't see familiar dark brown eyes gazing back at her. They're dilated green (so, _so_ green in this light) and her breath catches painfully in her throat. It must be the same for Michelle: the blue eyes that she expects are different and a hell of a lot more feminine. It's as if someone has bluntly just froze time in that exact second.

Fear and regret seem to bubble to the surface simultaneously but it's Michelle who pulls back her hands from up Naomi's bra first. A millisecond later, Naomi's freed herself from her own snare. They say nothing; it's awkward enough as it is.

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck_.

The brunette rapidly adjusts her clothes and snatches her bag up, scrambling through it for her lip-gloss again. Naomi slithers around behind her, trying to make her escape as one nervous hand flattens her hair and wipes over her mouth, removing all evidence of candy apples. She makes it almost to the door of the tiny room when Michelle sighs. It's an incredibly sad sound and something in Naomi's chest tightens. It's painfully familiar.

Tentative fingers dangle out and snag on Naomi's own hand. The tug is almost imperceptible but she's drawn closer nonetheless and for the briefest of moments, there's a brush of soft lips against her own.

"Sorry."

And then reality snaps back and Naomi's left staring at Michelle who's now gazing at herself in the glass and dabbing on lip-gloss again. "Sorry," she repeats quieter to her reflection and Naomi slips out of the bathroom without a word.

In the corridor, all she can hear is thudding music and a chorus of chaotic voices. She breathes deeply once, twice. Five times actually before she wills herself down the passageway and back towards the party. She grinds down the luscious, woolly feeling that has risen in her chest right where guilt is supposed to be flailing about in full-force. It is strangely subdued this time. Naomi refuses to consider what that means.

 

* * *

 

She finds Emily amidst a group of other UWE freshers, chatting excitedly about some student union bollocks or something. The redhead takes her hand without concern about where her girlfriend has been for the last half hour. Naomi hangs on tightly for ages and watches Emily speak as she herself pounds back disgusting gin and tonics. Moreover, she sees Emily's happiness at this new life stage. Eventually she excuses herself and wanders into the front room which is currently packed with people milling about to horrible music, amongst them 3 wannabe hip-hop stars. The white guy in their crew is hilariously inept half the time as they attempt to get some sort of grimy freestyle going above all the racket. She creeps over to the staircase, leans against the banister and surveys what she can see of the party. It's so reminiscent of the last half of the year and Naomi hates it. Nothing has changed, yet everything has and it's fucking knackering to sort it all out. She catches nearby movement out of the corner of her eye and suddenly Michelle is rushing towards her, her hand grasped knuckle-whiteningly tight over Tony's. She dodges Naomi's glare and proceeds to pull Tony after her up the stairs. They're going to fuck and Naomi can finally admit that they idea is making her stomach churn and froth in disgust. She swallows down the bile and pride. They both taste remarkably sour.

She needs a cigarette badly at this point she decides and she pats down her pockets for the few she has squished in a packet somewhere. Effy materialises out of nowhere beside her and holds out a smoke as some peace offering perhaps. Her new camera is absent leaving tonight to be remembered as only blurred visions... or, hopefully, not at all.

"Cheers, Eff," Naomi mutters and places the unlit fag between her lips, now looking for her lighter. Usually she's quite polite about lighting up in strangers' homes but right now she doesn't give a flying toss that she's in some bloke's (quite lovely) house. Another kind of smoke drifts by every so often so she doesn't see why a little carcinogenic tobacco mixed in with that would make a bloody bit of difference. Effy leans against the wall, her head falling back with a thud.

"You came," Effy breathes and Naomi's distracted from her nicotine mission momentarily.

She shrugs. "Emily's idea."

"You read the story?" she asks as if she already knows the answer, which she clearly does because it's Effy and she's likely orchestrated the whole thing.

Naomi nods slowly, the cigarette dangling between her lips, seemingly forgotten. "Yeah. What was– ."

Effy doesn't wait for her to ask the question before interrupting. "Run into Michelle tonight?"

 _Literally._ "Yeah," she says and glancing up towards the second floor where no doubt Michelle and Tony were steamrolling each other into grotesque ecstasy. Naomi didn't mean for her voice to tremble on that single syllable, and she certainly doesn't mean for her whole body to practically catch fire at the thought of what had transpired in the loo already. She consciously steadies her breathing and catches Effy's gaze studying her apathetically. It's time like these when she wonders if Effy cares too much or rather conversely not in the least, and all of this drama is just for sport. Her completely indifferent way of gliding through life would infer a certain aloofness, a carelessness like not much bothers or interests her at all. Such as this moment when she appears almost bored. But then sometimes her obvious curiosity is piqued to the extreme and her eyes act like a hundred needles piercing skin, silently drawing out blood and secrets.

There's a hint of a smile that sneaks out of Effy's mouth after a long pause. "Glad you came."

She wonders then how much has happened in the weeks that she'd been curled up on the sofa with Ems. Effy's oddly calm for the setting. While she's not a big talker, there's always a certain energy that she exudes at parties and nights out; a sort of high-frequency magnetism that draws boys and girls to her like flies. Her eyes are always larger, her ears are tuned to excitement and promises of chemical freedom. Today, she's softened. A little dissociated perhaps. Probably the result a few too many downers. She rolls her head back and forth against the wall, sighing again. She seems tired, and not just worn out from the party life but more like bone-deep fatigued by life itself. Giving up on her search for her lighter, Naomi plucks the cigarette from her mouth, slips it into a pocket carefully and moves to stand beside her best mate. She takes her hand gently.

"I love you, Eff," Naomi sighs and off Effy's non-reaction behind closed eyes, she pushes. "Like proper love, you know?"

Effy squints then, simply raises a sceptical eyebrow and regards Naomi coolly. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small baggy containing 7 off-white caplets, quite obviously MDMA, and counts them slowly. Twice. As if she expects some to be missing. Then her eyes narrow and she smirks at her friend twitching uncomfortably beside her.

"Everyone loves me," she says, almost a grimace as her blue eyes seem to glisten and she looks away, up at the dark ceiling. It would be quite cocky if Effy didn't look so pained as she says it.

"Fuck off," Naomi admonishes with a half-laugh, wiling for once just to be taken seriously. Like Emily used to do. "I mean it."

Effy sighs, her shoulders heaving with the effort and her gaze distant. She sniffs but Naomi can't be sure if it's due to some leftover ketamine caked to the inside of her nostrils or if her normally detached mate is actually a little wobbly about all of this. Eventually, after a second sniff, she turns to Naomi, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile – such a rare occurrence to see from a Stonem. "I know." There's something in that gaze that prevents Naomi from needing to ask if the feeling is returned. Maybe it's the softness in the blue depths, the sadness and relief constantly on parade behind the mask, or maybe just that she fucking knows Effy the best anyone can hope to. Naomi has no doubt that it's requited. They don't say it, and never have until now, but it's obvious enough to them both. Effy winks and holds her hands up as if she's taking a photograph, makes a _click_ with her tongue and smirks.

She can't explain it. Maybe it's the alcohol, the stress or perhaps Effy's up to her old tricks and there was some random happy substance slipped into her drink earlier. But regardless of the motivations or explanations, Naomi grabs Effy with two hands grasping either side of a bony face and licks her lips. She kisses Effy then, and not like those times when they'd been high at raves and just done it for the hell of it, for the sweet feeling of something against their own lips. Those were tender moments almost, borne out of some shared sense of transitory universal empathy and need for physical pleasure. No, this is much different. It's harder and desperate as Naomi presses her lips roughly against Effy. For her part, the brunette merely plays along, never getting too involved but never resisting either. Exactly the same way as she lives her life these days. (Who ever thought Effy Stonem would be predictable?) It doesn't dissuade the blonde however as she attempts a different angle; maybe that will help. She can't quite seem to grasp as hard as she wants; feeling the sharp cheek bones in her hands makes her feel like a lumbering giant. Clumsy and careless.

She reckons even despite that, it's nice... but there's something missing. There's no _rush_. No wind lapping against her skin. No manic sense of freedom. She pulls back, dropping her hands as if Effy's skin is suddenly scalding her palms. Effy snorts lightly and turns to stare back out at the crowd, unfazed.

"Doesn't work, does it?"

Naomi grimaces and searches around the room, hoping Emily hadn't just caught that little outburst of irrationality. Effy merely wipes a thumb along her own bottom lip, smirking, and still awaiting Naomi's no doubt snide reply.

"What?" Naomi's exchanged snide for petulant, it appears. She's playing dumb.

"Trying to force yourself to _love_ someone else."

The blonde can feel Effy's stare crawling over her face, studying every minuscule reaction to the words, to the meaning. She purposely looks elsewhere, unfortunately landing on a very displeased looking Katie Fitch. She'd obviously seen the the exchange. An eyebrow arches and Naomi rolls her eyes, shrugging off the silent condemnation. The ceiling has a fascinating pattern on it.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Eff." She does, sort of. But she'd really rather not. Convincing herself that she has no clue may actually work if she wishes hard enough, she reckons. It's done so in the past. There's a playful, distinctly feminine shriek from upstairs and Naomi winces automatically.

 _Shit._ Her cover is most definitely blown.

"Of course you don't," Effy muses and when Naomi glances over at her mate, the brunette's looking to Katie and nodding slightly. Katie winks back and Naomi's just fucking confused. Effy pulls out her mobile and looks at the time, and almost immediately, as if on some cue, a skinny boy stumbles towards her, his mop of curly hair flopping down over one eye. He sidles up to her suggestively, a wide smirk easing over his face. He hands the brunette a cup of some sort of alcohol, grinning.

"Here you are," he states and takes a long gulp of his own drink, knocking the thin plastic against Effy's with a dull clack. "I never did get to lay you," he slurs. "Long time to wait, yeah? So what do you say? Old times?"

Effy blinks slowly and Naomi can't recall who this boy is but he's certainly not someone they'd been at college with. It wasn't too surprising however since Effy seemed to know the entire male population of Bristol under the age of 25. Her gaze darts to Katie who's petting some rugby bloke's thigh teasingly on the sofa. The couple both look to Effy and the lad's eyes light up.

 _Oh, for fuck's sake._ Naomi wants to ease out of this situation, or trainwreck that she is certain is about to commence. She pushes off the wall but Effy's hand snaps out to grab her arm, stalling her progress. Yet the younger girl doesn't even look in her direction. Instead she's focused again on the boy. "Okay, Jake. I promised, didn't I?" She doesn't mention anything about underpants or Cassie, and it's probably better that way. The blonde has a terrible feeling that she's about to be persuaded into something she really would rather not do, let along think about ever in this life. Effy nods towards Katie one last time and the twin rises, tugging her new toy along with her and make their way to Effy. His rugby shirt reads Levan on the backside.

An orgy is just about the last thing Naomi can contemplate at the moment. Michelle's upstairs screwing the shit out of Tony and Effy wants to have an orgy in the room next door? Her stomach heaves with the thought. Frankly, fucking Effy, Katie or either of these blokes (or multiple combinations of) is just too much to handle. Where in sodding hell is Emily? Her eyes scan the room for her girlfriend to no avail. Effy pushes Jake up the stairs after Katie and her man, pausing only to turn to Naomi. Her hand finally drops and the sullen girl lets out a sigh of relief.

"Wait here." Without further explanation, Effy heads up the staircase after Jake and Katie. Naomi has no bleeding idea what she's even supposed to be waiting for and minutes pass without event. She sips her near empty drink. There's a lot of sound coming from above and the unbidden image of Katie and Effy's little foursome of fun invades her imagination. She shudders in response and tries to think of anything but that. It would be wonderful if that other thing could, for once, be her actual girlfriend who appears to have been abducted by aliens or something. She's nowhere to be found lately.

Suddenly there's a flurry of movement above and another shrill cry from one of the bedrooms. Interest piqued, Naomi gazes up the dim staircase trying to discern what's happening. She can hear Tony yell after Michelle, but he sounds amused more than anything. The blonde jumps slightly when Michelle appears out of thin air and comes stomping down the steps at a reckless pace. Her mascara is smeared and she wipes angrily at her eyes as she passes, hissing, "Don't start," at Naomi before fleeing into the crowd of people.

A sharp whistle catches Naomi's attention and her head snaps up to the railing and peers up, making Effy's silhouette out in the shadows, down to her bra – and knickers presumably. A small baggy with what appears to be white powder dangles from her fingers and Naomi has to resist the urge to scoff as a bit spills carelessly out, sparkling, glittering, floating down like angel dust. Before she has the chance, Effy speaks, her words sharp and quiet despite the noise in the house.

"You're not an immovable object, Naomi."

Then she melts back into the darkness above as if she was never really there at all.

 

* * *

The world around Naomi crackles and snaps. As if stepping from a fog, all the sounds become deafening in their intensity; the rippling bass, all the shouts and murmurs of everyone else are clear and her vision, once clouded and indistinct, paints vivid pictures of her surroundings. It's altogether terrifying. Too loud, too bright, too intense. She flees in the general direction Michelle had gone and in the process pushes through a writhing mass of sweat-stained bodies, past faces of people both recognisable and alien at the same time; the same faces she sees at all these parties, the same faces that make her wonder if time is on some sort of infinitesimal, inescapable loop. Nothing is ever quite lucid. Nothing fully real after a night like this. The blinding light of the kitchen flashes against her retinas, momentarily blinding her as she scrambles around briefly like a newborn pup climbing out of the den for the first time. Her irises strangle themselves, constricting against the harsh light making her eyes bluer and icier than normal, an illusion of sharp focus amid chaos. Adjustment happens eventually, as it always does.

The first thing she focuses on is Emily: a beacon of blazing crimson amidst a turbulent sea of nameless, meaningless people. The crowd around her is thick like winter mist, and she pushes roughly through, drawn to the flashing red. Emily hasn't even noticed her yet and that itself pricks at her suddenly volatile emotions, something between loneliness and anger rippling over her skin at the realisation; maybe she's no longer the centre of anyone's world. Her safe harbour barely acknowledges her presence -offering only a casual, darting glance- as she finally makes it into Emily's space. The twin smiles briefly and continues her conversation with that blonde from before, that annoying little Scottish girl from Roundview. It stings when Naomi notices the crinkle around Emily's eyes as her mouth stretches into a large grin and the once-common glimmer returns to her brown eyes, making them appear unbelievingly warm. Naomi catches herself not focusing on Emily, surprised by her own shifting attention. Instead her eyes are skimming the faces for someone else. But there are more people speaking around and to Emily, voices from every direction, bombarding her with a cacophony of noise. Submersed completely, Emily doesn't mind, just carries on, smiling.

Naomi elbows in even closer, pushing against all Emily's new friends, stretching down to put her lips to the shell of a rose-pink ear. _I need air. I'm going outside._

Distracted, Emily nods and gives her a quick kiss but Naomi's not even certain she heard the words.


	6. this hour is all we have for rescue

She doesn't run. Not this time. Her progress is steady and slow, hesitant actually. The back garden is still populated by the smokers and stoners, taking hits on a massively unnecessarily large bong. A few girls are bawling in one corner, the most upset of the bunch vomits on another's heels to a chorus of squeals and cries. There's no one she cares to see here. Her walk takes her out past the rows of wheelie bins alongside the wall of the house and across the path of a skittish dormouse. Other than the thumping echo of noise, it wouldn't even appear as if there's a party inside the house. No one is out front, except for a single girl sat on the kerb, moonlight glinting off her flashy sequined top. Naomi approaches with caution even though she is entirely certain who it is. Without asking, she takes a seat beside the older girl.

"Hey," she says softly.

Michelle glances over and smiles sadly. "Hey."

A horn beeps urgently in the distance along the A38. Other than the occasional car, cricket or frog, (and the low bass from the party) it's the only sound in the quiet neighbourhood. Naomi lets out a long, slow breath before looking over at Michelle, watching her carefully as she picks at pebbles between her feet. Mascara is smeared again, she's maybe been crying a bit. "What happened?" Naomi finally asks, finding both her voice and the courage to speak.

The older girl, groans in irritation and shrugs. "He just wasn't into me, into _it_ ," she says. "And honestly, neither was I. A little distracted."

"Why?" It is an innocently ignorant query. She hadn't even thought before the words came out.

Michelle allows a derisive laugh to bubble up and peers at Naomi, one eyebrow raised and her stare pointed with mild, yet amused, accusation.

Naomi's eyes grow wide when she realises her part in all of it. "Oh." She quickly and guiltily breaks the gaze and looks across the street. They fall into silence again, listening to the chorus of grass frogs bleating in the gardens of the neighbourhood. Michelle shakes her head again, clearing the tension that has settled in her shoulders.

"He's not been into _me_ for a while." She gazes up at the night sky. Stars flicker, pushing their way out from behind a thin layer of cloud and battling against the streetlamps for recognition. "Didn't help that those half-naked bundle of morons stumbled in and totally ruined any little bit of mood that was happening."

Michelle continues, perfectly content to just talk it out, not even concerned with any response Naomi may have to her confessions. "I just... I keep trying to piece it all together, like we used to be. We were _good_ , you know? Once upon a time. But... I feel like he doesn't even see me anymore, just looks right on through. Always has done though." She sighs again, pausing as if gathering her thoughts together or preparing her courage for an honest admission. "It's like clinging to a runaway horse with him these days. Can't figure out where we're going or what the fucking point even is." A sad laugh escapes her throat. "So much for true love, yeah?"

The blonde snorts but she's not sure if it's a sound of agreement or not. All she can think about is _Emily_ , not Tony, not any of Michelle's issues.

"But you and Emily are good, aren't you?" she asks, interpreting the sound as agreement.

Naomi winces at the question because it dredges up all sorts of feelings she'd rather not think about right now. It assaults her with her own questions and the worst is how it reminds her of what happened, what _continues_ to happen with Michelle. What that would do to Emily if she knew. God, she really is a completely shit person.

"Yeah," she lies. She'll force herself to believe it one way or another. There's a feeling of green eyes watching her carefully, sympathetically. _Empathetically_. Fuck. "Not everything can be perfect all the time," the younger girl adds quickly as a logical reason for her melancholy, but it ends up being more of a feeble excuse.

It catches her off guard when she feels a gentle arm snake over her shoulders and pull her in so she's resting comfortably against Michelle, laying her head on the older girl's shoulder as if it's second-nature. Michelle gives a squeeze and almost nuzzles her cheek against the crown of Naomi's forehead. Everything is so warm and natural at the moment nestled against a soft, accommodating body. And really, she hadn't realised how much of a difference a simple hug could make. It's been so long. Something about the gesture tears apart the ropes and barriers that Naomi normally kept so immaculately strong. Before she even realises it, her voice is drifting out, twirling and dancing in the night air between them.

"I don't know what to be if I'm not in love with her." Her voice is timid and the admission is surprising. She'd never even considered that issue regardless of how true it suddenly seems. That's the fucking awful thing about love. Once you do it once, you can never get out of it again. It opens you up in a way that's impossible to ever force shut afterwards. It's like a sick addiction, a habit that you'll never ever break cos even if you stop loving someone, and vow never to love anyone again, and magically if you somehow succeed in that, you're still not really free of love cos you're resisting it, thinking about it, denying it. Not being in love can be just as consuming as the real thing. Or, as many people do, you can block up that entrance to yourself with cement and barbed wire and poisonous words and feigned indifference, but it's still there. Right beneath all those makeshift "No trespassing" threats. Someone opened it and you can never, ever properly close it again. She supposes that's why when it ends, it's a broken heart: Love rips open the hole and then covers it will flowers, beauty and smiles but when it leaves, all you're left with is withered leaves and the gaping empty space. The only wound time can never heal.

So, really, when it comes down to it, love is trap. It's best just never to ever love anyone – but unless you're a legitimate psychopath, that's downright impossible. She hadn't been lying when she'd told Emily that she was the one person that could ruin her life. Naomi tried not falling in love. She tried really fucking hard. But she fell in and got thrashed about and ripped apart. Now all that's left is to keep swimming, one safe island to the next. Naomi doesn't like this at all, doesn't like what it means. One island is plenty.

"And if I don't love her, I'll just have to love someone else." And maybe that's worse. Just another island. Never-ending.

She'd been about Emily since she was fucking 12-years-old. It was about liking Emily, being confused by Emily, trying not to love Emily, loving Emily so hard that it hurt to breathe sometimes, loving her poorly, winning her back, trying to recapture everything that they had been. It's almost a decade of loving _one_ person in so many different ways. She can't actually remember what life was like before that, and she clearly can't grasp what it would be like without it. She can't just let it go. It's always been Naomi and Emily. Emily and Naomi. "I just ... Chelle, I don't know who _I_ am if I'm not in love with her."

"Yeah," Michelle agrees softly and Naomi has no doubt that the older girl knows exactly what she's trying so ineloquently to say.

"But I'm so lonely even when I am." Her voice catches on the hitch of a soft sob. _Oh god_ , maybe she really had been slipped something tonight cos this sort of sharing isn't ever supposed to happen, not with anyone who isn't Effy or Emily. Then again, Michelle is a friend -a new one- but still, a friend. The hand that once had a firm grip on her shoulder has evaporated; instead she feels stirringly delicate fingers passing through her hair in a languid rhythm, over and over and soft cheek pressed even harder against her. It loosens her tongue even further. "When we were younger, it didn't matter where we were, whether it was in a room with 5 people or in assembly with 200, I could feel her watching me and visa versa. We'd catch each other all the time, like some sort of crazy psychic connection. Like it was meant to be. I learnt to read those eyes so easily. For so long, we barely had a need to speak. Then I fucked up. More than once. Well bad. Then we didn't speak on purpose when we should have."

Michelle lets out a woeful sigh as if she's familiar with all of this but doesn't say a word.

"But I could still read her like a book and it fucking hurt like hell and then... we lost it. I shut down, she shut down, I dunno what happened. But we fixed it and it came back. Lately though, Emily used to... she used to like to watch. You know? Eye contact. But we stopped being able to meet each other's stares across crowded rooms, then she started shagging with her eyes closed more and more often, clenched sometimes. Now we only do it in the dark. I just can't _see_ her."

"Are you looking in the right place though?" There's something wildly loaded behind Michelle's question but Naomi passes over it, not willing to deal with that yet. Sensing that she's not going to get an answer, the brunette leans away, her hand falling from Naomi's hair. "The thing is, Naomi, nothing lasts forever... but nothing ever completely changes either. It just sort of _bends_."

It's such a sodding cliché. It's worse that it's completely true as well. The blonde runs a hand over her face and huffs. Her head tilts back, gazing towards the unchanging stars. _Cygnus_ catches her eye again but her attention drifts aside, falling on _Vulpecula_ instead, a modern constellation, lonely without a Greek myth companion. These stars, they're constant. For all she knows, they'll last forever. They've been around this long, haven't they? If they die, she won't be around to see it anyway. People are sort of like stars, she reckons; they don't change much and by the time they do, she'll probably be dead anyway. And the past. You can't change that either, not even if you try to rewrite it or erase it completely from your memory. That doesn't mean it never happened; it just means that you lose sight of the truth. It's a dirty type of freedom. It's cheating.

Michelle laughs as if she's thought of some great joke. "I wanted Tony to change so badly at first. He was a proper arse. And then he did, completely, became the total opposite of Tony in a matter of seconds. Then I wanted him to change back for me cos I wasn't ready to deal with not having him be Tony after all. And then he did. He was good. Then what I had wanted before came again and he was back to himself completely. Everything's a mess. We run in circles. I thought I changed too. Thought he made me a better person. Now I'm not so sure."

It saddens Naomi to think that the person she is at this second, sat on the pavement outside a shitty house party with no direction to her life, is the person she's fated to always come back to time and time again. She resists the idea. It seemed like the truth moments ago when she thought of everyone else in the world, but put into her own experience, and in relation to her own desires, it's a horrible thought. People must be able to change. Surely, not everyone is stuck. But she can't think of a single viable argument disproving the theory. It's all too depressing to consider at the moment.

Michelle cocks her head to the side, solemnly nodding to herself. "I think it's time to let it go, if I can." She doesn't sound too sure of herself and the younger girl is not surprised.

"I don't think I could ever let go, yeah? That ability to just, Christ, catch someone's eye and to hold onto it like you couldn't look away if you tried? And you try like hell to break free but it's just inescapable, or something. And to have someone else looking at you the exact same way? I _can't_ let go of that." Her blue eyes are focussed and clear despite the darkness. Determined. Penetrating. Imploring Michelle to respond.

A doleful smirk crosses over the other girl's lips as she breaks Naomi's gaze and stares at the pavement instead. "I don't think _anyone_ 's ever looked at me like that."

It clicks, the same sort of thing that had switched on back in the loo. A rush. The words come out before she has a chance to censor them or even consider their meaning.

"Someone does." She thinks back to all the parties, all the outings, lunch dates, club nights and the direction of her attention has slowly shifted almost completely. She'd been trying to measure the future in terms of Emily so precisely that she hadn't been aware she'd been losing control, losing awareness of the momentum of the other variable: Michelle.

She watches curiously as Michelle's eyes close and she appears to just freeze the moment, as if she savouring a particularly delectable treat. What had been a downcast frown turns up into a tiny smile. Taking in a deep breath, she slowly opens her eyes, first gazing across to the rows of cars across the road before turning towards Naomi. There's very little hesitation in her next move and it's likely because they both expect it. Her lips part almost immediately upon meeting Michelle's and her hands don't clench at her sides but reach out with open palms and zealous fingertips to grasp a curved waist or thread through brown curls. Doesn't even matter anymore. She feels reciprocal warmth encircling her and cupping her cheek. When she pulls back first, it's a shock to see Michelle's face – not like before because she hadn't been expecting it, but because she _is_ expecting it this time. She feels the pull in her bones. Magnets, all right. Fucking magnets.

The brunette clambers to her feet, extending a hand to Naomi and pulling her upright, a grin spread wide over her lips.

"Want to walk me home?" Her corresponding coy smirk leaves no doubt to the her real intentions and then it becomes far more real than anything had been up until now. It's wrong, and it's scary and Naomi can't help it. Her mind makes an excuse to flee before her body can even attempt it.

Panic rises as her excuse becomes clear. "I..." _Say it, Naomi. Say it and run, you stupid cow_. "I can't. Emily..." She thumbs towards the house where her oblivious girlfriend, who doesn't deserve any of this, not again, is waiting.

The disappointment is obvious, the embarrassment overtaking the other girl's features as a faint pink tinge colours her cheeks under the streetlights. "Right, sorry." She backs away awkwardly from Naomi, from the truth, and from the situation. "I'm just – I'm going to go. See you around, yeah."

The words _stop_ , _wait_ , and _yes_ catch all at once in the back of Naomi's throat rendering her speechless as she watches Michelle walk away down the dark street. It's too late anyway. She escapes back into the party, overcompensates and stays tight beside Emily for the rest of the night, dripping with unconfessed sin. Having bitten the apple she shouldn't still be allowed in the garden. Only once does she falter upon seeing Effy staring impassively at her, a look of ridicule fluttering over her features before she disappears again into the crowd. This party is shit after all.

 

* * *

" _October is the fallen leaf, but it is also a wider horizon more clearly seen. It is the distant hills once more in sight, and the enduring constellations above them once again."_

– Hal Borland

 

* * *

 

Early the next day, Naomi crawls out of bed before Emily wakes and creeps to the living room. Her empty and abused stomach demands its soothing morning tea. She only makes enough for herself and settles back in front of the noise of the TV, trying to distract herself from the pandemonium in her mind. It's news. Better than football.

_Avon and Somerset Police are searching for a late-20s male in connection with a fatal hit and run off Gloucester Rd. in Bishopston last night. According to eye witness accounts, a yellow 2011 BMW convertible with a blue stripe was seen fleeing the scene where a young woman was brutally struck and killed by the swerving vehicle heading north as she was crossing the road on a green pedestrian signal. The incident took place around 2 AM. No information about the identity of the deceased has been released but she is described as early-20s, brown hair, hazel eyes and slim build. The same vehicle is suspected in another hit and run last weekend. Alcohol is alleged to be a factor. Anyone with information about the driver of the vehicle is urged to come forward to West Country Crimestoppers at 0800 555 11 or your local constabulary. There has been a rash of fatal road traffic and drink-driving accidents of this nature in Bristol during the recent summer months, spurning city council to look into new..._

Silence seems to descend quite rapidly despite the movement of the reporter's lips. There is no sound in the small room apart from the crash of a half-empty mug of tea against the wooden coffee table. Hot liquid splashes across scattered papers, dripping down between cracks onto sock-clad feet. The blonde takes no notice, her gaze fixed on the television screen and Andrew Plant now reciting banal roadworks reports for south Bristol. She can't hear his words any longer and his face as morphed into a strange blur. She blinks strongly and it clears, unexpected tears squeezed out by the action. She's no clue what's happening at the moment, or why her body has taken it upon itself to cry. A quick brush of a sleeve removes all traces and she takes a deep breath, concentrating on the actual situation. Glancing down, she wiggles her toes, feeling the dampness of the tea soaking into her socks. She's created a mess. She's brilliant at that.

The moment she looks back at the anchorman on Points West, her mind replays what he had just said minutes earlier. _Fatal. Bishopston. 2 AM. Early-20s. Brown hair, hazel eyes. Brutal. Fatal... Fatal._ She doesn't even recognise that the description of the vehicle matches one that she's vaguely familiar with and belongs to one of those arsehole Rovers Reserves Katie used to go on about. Her attention instead is devoted to the victim. _Deceased._

A much delayed gasp escapes her mouth as the seriousness of the report hits her full-on. Her mind, once foggy with half-drunken memories, is suddenly catapulted back to clarity as the events of the previous night flood past her eyes.

_"Want to walk me home?" The coy smile. The scared refusal._

It's too much. It _can't_ be that way.

The blonde drops her head into her hands, trying to take an adequate breath. She fails and only draws in a stuttering gasp in its place. Emily wanders aimlessly into the room and spots her girlfriend trembling on the sofa in front of the news. The spilt tea has pooled on the once veneered table surface and has likely already stained the carpet below. At a loss for what caused this breakdown, Emily tentatively perches on the edge of the sofa cushions beside Naomi. She's all too aware of the slight shift away from her.

"Naoms?" Emily's voice is practically a whisper as she reaches for one of Naomi's hands, noting how clammy it feels and how much she's shaking. Snatching it away almost as quickly, Naomi falls back, clamping her hands over her face and breathing out loudly. Emily gazes over, genuine concern etched into every crevice of her face. "What happened?"

Naomi can hear the words now. Silence is no longer plugging up her senses but she's still reluctant to acknowledge the sound. _What did happen? What the fuck happened last night?_ What was supposed to be merely a deep breath turns into a sob before she has time to reign it in. Her chest tightens painfully and she resists the urge to grab at it. _Fuck._ She's not sure what the hell is happening to her right now, but it's familiar and horrible and holy fuck does she just want it to go away. It doesn't do her bidding, as is the case with most emotions, especially lately. She's losing control of them, and that knowledge alone may be her greatest fear. Maybe if she just sits here, refusing to answer the question, Emily will eventually leave her alone.

She knows Emily better than that however and the possibility is slim to none.

Dropping her hands from their protective shield around her red-rimmed eyes, she glances over at the red-head. "It's fine. Just..." Her mind searches for some excuse, something other than 'I'm pretty sure it's my fault that a girl that I may possibly and actually love more than you is dead right now.' ( _Love_? Where the fuck did that come from anyway?) There are thousands of other options and they all sound fucking ridiculous even in her own brain. "There was a video of the oil spill from last month." _Christ._ That will never fly. Emily's not a fucking retard.

Emily peers down at the spilt tea, ruined table and carpet before back up to Naomi's face with obvious disbelief. "Right." At least she appears to recognise the futility of pushing the issue at the moment but her eyes are terribly sad, as if she knows that Naomi's hiding things again and just doesn't have the spirit left to plough through the swamp of excuses anymore. When Emily Fitch gives up, the world itself appears hollow and hopeless. Slowly and guiltily, Naomi scoots to the edge and stands up carefully, plucking the toppled mug from its resting place and scooping up the wet newspaper. As she does, she notes that Emily's not even looking at her now, her gaze instead fixed blankly on the television newscast and the outlook on weather for the next few days. Still not looking. Not anymore. Always her fault.

"Sorry about this," Naomi mutters and Emily nods, her attention still rapt on the 5-day forecast. It's supposed to be cloudy with a chance of rain. How utterly predictable. The blonde opens her mouth to offer further make-believe excuses for her behaviour but Emily doesn't seem interested in her lies, or anything at all.

After disposing of the mess, she creeps back into the front room. Katie must still be asleep in her room, or not home at all. Depends how that orgy went over. Gathering her jacket and slipping into her trainers, Naomi stares at Emily. She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, worrying it between her teeth in a bid to gain the courage for what she needs to say. Everything up to this point has just been one failure after another. Failure to communicate, failure to act, failure to tell the truth, failure to trust, failure to love. Her heart thumps faster as she faces the reality of yet another episode.

"I'm leaving." The words slip past her lips as if carried by some other entity inside her body. Emily turn to her, gazing over her shoulder at the blonde and squinting at her announcement.

"You sure you're okay?" she asks again, still suspicious as to Naomi's state of mind but allowing her an opening to tell the truth, almost pleading with her. Just once.

"Fine. I'm leaving though, Ems." Struggling, she wants to add "for good, forever, you" but those words never make it out. They _can't_. She's never said them before. Emily has always been the one to call it quits: in her bedroom before the Love Ball, on the rooftop, after Goa. She'd tried once, right before Freddie's shed party but it had never really been final and she told Emily to leave, never said she was done. Besides, Emily hadn't even truly moved out before Naomi was there, tears streaming down her face and begging for another chance. She can't do it for real, for certain, with any actually sense of finality. Naomi's not sure if she actually knows how to end things, even if she truly could build up the courage to form the words. Her eyes begin to burn around the corners, a threatening build-up on the verge of spilling over. She can't form them, partly cos she knows she's still in love with Emily, a little bit at the very least (maybe more with the _idea_ in all honesty) and partly because she's Naomi Campbell. Simple as that. She's defined more by what she doesn't do than what she does. Defined by failures.

The redhead looks her over curiously. "Okay, Naoms." She's obviously not sure what to make of the comment. "See you later. Get some sleep, yeah?" A small smile tugs at her lips and Naomi rushes over, laying a brief but hard kiss to Emily's mouth before darting back across to the door. Emily's brow furrows and she stares at her girlfriend for a few more moments in confusion before turning back to the telly. Naomi rushes out of the flat, slamming the door behind her.

She makes it just down the pavement in the general direction of her mum's flat when she chokes on her own breath causing her to come to a full-stop, doubled over and gasping for air. Her heart is beating a million times a minute, feeling erratic and panicked. Her skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat and her vision blurry, her head dizzy. She contemplates running back those few paces to Emily and Katie's flat, finding solace there but the thought causes a second wave of anxiety to wash over her. Not caring who's about, she sits down on the pavement, right in front of some sweetly-scented shrubs, comforted by the fact that Emily can't see her from the window. Her breathing slows to a more moderate rate and her heart, once destined to break a rib or two with its erratic pounding, is beating a tad more normally. She gulps in the fresh air as her eyes clench tightly shut.

She's dead.

Michelle is _dead_.

Anxiety rises quickly again, overtaking Naomi's rational brain, spiralling her thoughts into paranoia, fear and guilt. Guilt. That's it. That's why all of this feels so bloody familiar. It just like that fucking carpark roof. She'd fucked Emily up for good, fucked them both up monumentally and seemingly permanently. But at least, well, at least Emily was alive despite Naomi's actions, her inaction. It rips and tears pieces of Naomi's chest in the process of being recognised. If she had just done something, said something more. If she had just said those fucking words that she had felt, Michelle would have stayed slightly later and wouldn't have been in the road at that moment. If she had just agreed to go home with Chelle the way her body had been screaming at her to, they maybe would have taken their time, or rushed even quicker, anything not to be in that road at that precise moment in time. It was just a series of fucking 'What ifs' and they all rested on Naomi's shoulders. Her inability to do a single one of them, not a simple single fucking one, has now left her friend dead. God, just a minute difference would have changed a life.

If she had just kissed her longer.

Everything in her body had begged at her to do just that, down to each individual molecule whirling in every cell. Except Naomi's bloody conscience, and look where that got her: a panic attack on a public road after being too much of a sissy to tell Emily even a smidgen of the truth. Always. It's always like this.

She fucks up; she fucks over the people she loves the most.

Loves.

 _Bloody hell._ The idea that she could ever put herself, Michelle Richardson and _love_ in the same sentence together had never even fucking occurred to her. Not when Emily was also closely affiliated with those same words. Not until now, or perhaps last night but she had been too flipping stubborn to admit that when she had the chance, or even allow herself to ponder the possibility prior to now. She'd adamantly championed her undying love for the only girl who had ever loved her back; that girl who'd flipped her life upside down and made it seem right-side up again. She owed Emily so much, and loving her was the least she could do in return. Except she loved too much, then not enough, then in the wrong way, then too late, then pretended to, pretended so fucking hard that she'd convinced herself even of her own lie. _God, she really is a cunt._ After all Emily had given up and given her, what she really deserves is the truth. Still, it's a frightening concept. One that causes fear to boil in the pit of her stomach and her limbs to turn to mush. Truth is simple. But it is hard.

Her fingers tickle the keys of her mobile, tapping buttons and before she's even aware, it's ringing through to a familiar number. Just for moment however before the answerphone interrupts, signalling that the phone is off. _Hi, you've reached Michelle. I'm not here but leave me a message and I'll return your call. Ta!_

Naomi gulps again, strangling her own cry with admirable willpower, presses the power-off button and stuffs her mobile back into her pocket roughly. Pushing herself up, she takes a shaky step away from the shrubbery and glances up at Katie's bedroom window. There's obviously no one there but she feels the spectre of her own terror watching her from afar. She can't just keep doing _nothing_. She can't keep putting things off until something else slams her into action. She'd fallen into that trap far too many times. It was how she had lived college, how she was still living – and now it's cost her friend's life.

 _Friend._ Fucking _friend_. Freddie had been a friend. Michelle had been _something else_. Her heartbeat feels erratic again, feeling as if it's jumping around without tethering, as if it's been set loose to wreak havoc in her chest and pummel the rest of her into reluctant submission. She fucking loved that girl even despite it not making sense, despite their differences, despite loving Emily too. Despite everything, that was what had been frothing, bubbling somewhere deep inside since that day in the park. _That_ had been what she'd been trying to tell Michelle last night. She bloody well loved her. And now she's dead. It's all her fucking fault, all of it. Maybe... Well, up until she had seen that news report, Michelle had been alive. Or perhaps dead. But now she was certainly dead as if the existence of that newscast and her viewing of it could have caused this. Everything she's done has caused this. She takes a few more steps in the direction of her destination, hesitantly and fearful that every moment, every movement will have some new catastrophic result.

She almost jumps out of her own skin when a cat brushes up against her bare legs. She looks down with near-disdain, tries to step away from it but it follows her, looping and sliding around her ankles, a low purr rumbling out of its small body. Its tag glints in the afternoon sun, the name "Erwin" blinding her momentarily. _What stupid name for a cat_. The blonde hops out of its reach again, stumbles over a crack in the pavement, and catches her balance just in time. Energized somehow, she breaks into a jog briefly and glances back eventually to see it sitting in the middle of the pavement, just calmly watching with an eerie stare.

Naomi runs again.

By some miracle, the blonde drags her body up her front walk, arrives at the familiar blue door and pushes it open. The smell of lentil soup wafts around her nostrils causing a nauseated feeling to permeate her stomach. Her mother drifts out to greet the visitor and smiles at seeing Naomi's face. The younger girl winces at the happiness there and moves lethargically towards the stairs without a hello. Gina watches with interest at such a surly young thing in her midst and leans against the banister as her daughter climbs the steps.

"Oh, honey, Paul and Charlene are popping by for tea tonight if you want to join us. I'm sure they–."

"No."

Gina pauses, squinting a little, trying to figure out the reason for this sulky mood. "Fine, well, your mobile's off, you know. A few of your friends rang while you were out–."

"Don't care." Naomi barely stops her progress.

"One said–."

"Mum!" Naomi groans and turns to sneer down at her mother. "I. Don't. Care. Bloody ridiculous." She wants to tell her mum to fuck off and leave her to wallow in peace. It's the least she can do after producing such an inadequate human being in her own image. Instead she thumps her feet louder up the stairs.

"Whoever told you life was easy, sweetheart," Gina calls up the stairs as if sensing the necessity of her motherly advice, "has never lived a day in their life."

The slam of a door merely provokes a sad shake of her head as the older woman shuffles back to the kitchen to finish preparing whatever strange and otherworldly vegan dish she's experimenting with this week. Naomi enters her bedroom, stares blankly at its unfamiliarity, suddenly feeling like a complete stranger in her own home. She'd stayed with Emily so often in the past weeks, she wasn't sure what she could even call home any longer. Swatting at a clutter of books piled high on her bureau feels oddly cathartic as they tumble to the floor, crashing and falling open. She moves away, impotent anger seeping in torrents from her pores as if it's a wild animal set from from confinement. She's fucking pissed off at herself, Michelle, Effy, Emily, every fucking person for constructing life just this way. She smashes a hand into another stack of old books. They cascade down, narrowly missing her toes but creating a deafening, if momentary, chaotic noise. As she stomps over to her neatly made bed, she trips over a book and stumbles into her nightstand, knocking the lamp over. A cry of frustration escapes from somewhere dark inside her and suddenly the prickle of tears irritates her eyes. They slip forth without a second hesitation, sliding down her cheeks. First from the left eye, then the right. No one said life would be easy; no one's that big a moron. But for fuck's sake, _this_ hard? She angrily plucks the offending book from under her foot, prepared to toss it across the room when she glances down at the image.

It's a battered star map, creased from decades of use. She recognises it as one of the only things her father ever passed down to her and she's tempted momentarily to rip the whole book to shreds. However, resisting that destruction, she glances at the picture itself, dots and lines all meeting in the centre of a sketch of a princess with chains around her wrists. _Andromeda, the Chained Woman_ , Naomi recalls with surprising ease. It had once been one of her favourites.

Slowly collapsing onto her mattress, Naomi traces the image with her finger, navigating around the stars and outwards, finding the constellation of Perseus as well, he who had fallen in love with Andromeda without even realizing it. He had almost fallen from the sky because he had been so taken with her. But Perseus, well, he had also made a decision, acted in time – just in the nick of time; almost at the last moment. He remembered to flap his wings and made a deal with Poseidon to save the princess if he could kill the sea monster. It's all very false and Disney happy-ending to Naomi now, despite any relation she may feel towards the princess or the hero. She throws the book into the corner in disgust.

_Fucking fairytales._

Her bedroom is just one reminder after another, layers of memories upon stacks of what were once good intentions. Every piece of paper on her corkboard to each book on her shelf just stings with recollection of a person, time or place. The plush fox on her shelf, the plane ticket stubs from Goa, the empty vodka bottles. It's suffocating. It all just seems to be a tangled web that's trapped her right in this situation with Michelle dead and her relationship with Emily nothing more than a pathetic sham cos she's too much of a daft cow to actually _try_.

It smells like something's burning down in the kitchen and it's enough to make the sick rise higher. The result is a cascade of unwanted tears and a desperate desire to escape this claustrophobic den of regrets. Naomi jumps off her bed and stomps down the staircase. All she can hear is her nutter of a mum cursing to herself in the kitchen. She doesn't know where she's going, why she's going or what she hopes to accomplish. All she does know is that the weather for the evening is supposed to get slightly chilly. All she can see is that damned weather forecast Emily had been so enthralled by. Pulling a loose cardigan around her shoulders and looking as if she'd just crawled out of the bin, she slips on her flip-flops.

She's so bloody knackered from doing nothing except alternating between crying and raging silently all morning, but staying here won't help anything. She's just killed the girl she loves. Nothing in the world can change that. Not even the ring from her mobile. Glancing down she spies Effy's name pop up. Unable to bring herself to answer it knowing perfectly well what it's going to be about, she swipes at her eyes one last time as she erases any evidence of tears. Literally two seconds after the mobile ceases its shrill call, a beep notifies her of a text message, again from Effy with a simple request to ring her back ASAP. Guilt and grief coagulate into a hard lump in her throat at the idea. She's got too many bloody feelings right now to deal with anyone else's. They're all horrible and malleable, conflicting, confusing, regretful; tangled around her heart, squeezing it and spidering through her mind. They're everywhere and she can't seem to outrun them; the faster she goes, the tighter they cling onto her.

The doorbell dings loudly above her head. She doesn't want to see Paul and Charlene, her mum's batty co-workers from that godforsaken local arts gallery but Gina calls from the kitchen anyway. "Answer that for me, sweetheart!" _Clueless fucking cow._ She'll open the door and slip out before they get a word in; that's the plan.

Naomi reaches for the doorknob and twists, a sullen demeanour settling over her features as she prepares for the barrage of over-excited greetings. She stuffs down her own emotionality for the moment. Once she's free of this house, she'll breathe again.

But she doesn't, not when she opens the door. Possibly not for a good 2 minutes.

She has to steady herself against the doorframe for a moment as she processes the scene in front of her, trying to gauge whether she's just imagining things. Michelle Richardson is standing on her front steps, with a small smile on her face. The longer Naomi stalls, and as her skin blanches at the sight, the brunette looks more and more confused about the hesitation. She's seeing a ghost.

Everything Naomi had desired to happen has suddenly come around and she's still not certain if she has the strength to make a pact with Poseidon. Those chains seem daunting and the monster over her shoulder even more so. There's so much left undone and unaddressed, still wide open: _Emily,_ guilt, love, every fucking feeling that had been pervading her mind in the last few hours. Her heart beat quickens, inspired by the opposite of anxiety.

"Hi," Michelle offers, half-coy and half-uncertain, her eyes twinkling with a speckling of bewilderment.

"Hey," Naomi finally breathes out, her own lips nervously moving of their own accord into the smallest of hesitant smiles. She blinks slowly, taking in the scene. Michelle lets out a long sigh as well, a demure grin spreading further over her cheeks.

In a garden beyond, a hound bays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes just for the curious:
> 
> Since I can't put in links to sources, you can wiki most of the concepts and myths. Ones included here include: Laelaps & the Teumessian Fox (the main myth), Orion, Cygnus, Echidna, Andromeda & Perseus, and quantum mechanics: Heisenberg uncertainty principle/the EPR Paradox for entangled particles/Schrödinger's Cat. There are some loose Biblical references as well, Temptation of Christ and The Fall of Man. The chapter titles are related to concepts in the individual chapters. First one is obvious. Second is related to the constellations around Orion, Canis Major and Minor, Hound and Fox - well JJ explains it. You can infer from there. 3rd chapter is just you know... oceanography. heh, or fluid dynamics. 4th is obvious again. The 5th is a Biblical reference; forbidden fruit (the "apple" of Original Sin) and "postlapsarian" means "after The Fall" - related to Naomi's predicament. This chapter is a quote from Perseus in a particular translation of the rescue of Andromeda.


End file.
